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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






COLLECTED AND ARRANGED 
BY 

LIDA BEOWN McMURRY 



AND 

AGNES COOK GALE 




SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 28 1905 

, Copyright Entry 
OLASS OL XXc. No. 

/ S ¥ 6^ 

COPY B. 



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Copyright, 1905, by 

SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY. 



&cknotoletigment 



The poems in this collection are reprinted by per- 
mission of the authors in all cases in which the authors 
could be communicated with, in other cases by permis- 
sion of the publishers. A very few poems have been 
copied from newspapers, the publishers of which could 
not themselves give clue to the authors' identity. The 
editors will be glad to be informed of the author- 
ship of any of these unidentified poems, that proper 
acknowledgment may be made in future editions. 

Special acknowledgment is due to Elizabeth Akers, 
for Rock Me to Sleep; to Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 
for Cradle Song; to Carolyn S. Bailey, for A Christ- 
mas Lullaby; to Blanche Wilder Bellamy, for the 
translation of Sunshine; to Mary Elizabeth Blake, for 
David and Goliath; to Harriet F. Blodgett, for My 
Laddie and "Willie Boy; to Mrs. Albert Bryant, for the 
use of Story Time; to James Buckham, for A Child of 
Today and Lullaby; to the parents of Eudora S. Bum- 
stead, for A Summer Lullaby ; to Pauline Frances Camp, 
for Cradle Song; to Kathleen Carman, for Song; to 
Herbert E. Clarke, for The Teacher; to Austin Dobson, 
for Little Blue Ribbons; to Emma C. Dulaney, for A 
Plantation Lullaby; to Richard Watson Gilder, for A 
November Child and At Night; to Alfred Percival 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Graves, for An Irish Lullaby; to Thomas Went- 
worth Higginson, for Sixty and Six; to Mrs. Georgiana 
Klingle Holmes (George Klingle), for Patience with the 
Love; to Edwin H. Keen, for The Foster-Mother ; to 
Mary H. Krout, for Little Brown Hands ; to Grace Denio 
Litchfield, for My Other Me; to William S. Lord, for 
[Mother, Moon and Stars ; to Eva Lovett, for The Tyrant 
of the House; to Peter McArthur, for The Boy; to Ed- 
win Markham, for Kyka from his "Lincoln and Other 
Poems' '; to Emily Huntington Miller, for Her World, 
My Good for Nothing, Baby's Christening and The 
Empty Nest; to Alice Ormes, for Mothers' Lullabies; 
to Francis Sterne Palmer, for Sunlight; to Samuel 
Minturn Peck, for My Little Girl; to Jeremiah E. 
Rankin, for The Babie; to Eben E. Rexford, for 
Kissed His Mother ; to Margaret E. Sangster, for A Gen- 
tleman, Mother 's Work, The Welcome, and The Trouble- 
some Baby ; to Andrew Bice Saxton, for The First Step ; 
to Charles Henry Webb, for Little Mamma; to Robert 
Burns Wilson, for A Walk with a Child and Lines to a 
Child; to Nora A. (Piper) Wood, for To Be a Child 
Again; to Bertha Gerneaux Woods, for God's Little Girl; 
to George E. Woodberry, for The Child. 

Our thanks are due also to the following publishers: 
to D. Appleton and Company, publishers of Bryant's 
complete works, for The Mother's Hymn, Innocent Child 
and Snow- White Flower; to the Century Company, for 
the poems from "Five Books of Song" by Richard Wat- 
son Gilder, for the poem by Andrew B. Saxton, and for 
the First Born by Elizabeth C. Kinney, reprinted from 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Scribner's Monthly, now The Century Magazine, by per- 
mission; to the Curtis Publishing Company, for Empty 
Stockings by Ellen Manly, reprinted by the courtesy 
of The Ladies' Home Journal ; to E. P. Dutton and Com- 
pany, for The Children's Triumph by Frances Ridley 
Havergal; to Forbes and Company, for the poem by 
Nixon Waterman ; to Ginn and Company, for His Sixth 
Birthday by Georgiana E. Billings, reprinted from The 
Youth's Companion; to Harper and Brothers, for A 
Gentleman from "Little Knights and Ladies" by Mar- 
garet Sangster; to Houghton, Mifflin and Company (au- 
thorized publishers of the works of the following au- 
thors), for the poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfel- 
low, John Greenleaf Whittier, James Russell Lowell, 
Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Frank Dempster Sherman, Alice 
Cary, Celia Thaxter and Margaret E. Sangster (Wel- 
come and The Troublesome Baby) ; to Hurst and Com- 
pany, for the selection from N. P. Willis's poems; to 
Charles H. Kerr and Company, for the poem by Alice 
W. Brotherton; to John Lane, for the poems from "Lil- 
liput Lyrics" by W. B. Rands; to Little, Brown and 
Company, for the poem by Helen Hunt Jackson; to 
McClure, Phillips and Company, for Kyka, from "Lin- 
coln and Other Poems" by Edwin Markham ; to the Mac- 
millan Company, for The Toys by Coventry Patmore 
and for The Child by George E. Woodberry from "Wild 
Eden," published and copyrighted by The Macmillan 
Company; to G. P. Putnam's Sons, for the lines from 
"Golden Bees of Sleep" by Irene Putnam and for My 
Other Me from "Mimosa Leaves" by Grace Denio Litch- 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

field; to Charles Seribner's Sons, for Cradle Song by 
J. G. Holland; to Small, Maynard and Company, for 
the poems by John B. Tabb, and to Frederick A. Stokes 
Company, for Patience with the Love from "Make Thy 
Way Mine ' ' by George Klingle. 

To the following periodicals we are also indebted: to 
The Advance, for the poem by Bertha Gerneaux 
Woods ; to Child Study Monthly, for the poem by Sarah 
F. Davis; to The Christian Advocate, for the poem by 
James Buckham, and for A Little Lad's Answer; to 
Elmira Facts, for Have Faith in the Boy; to The En- 
quirer (Cincinnati), for My Bad Little Boy; to The 
Independent, for the poems by Eva Lovett, Bertha G. 
(Davis) Woods, Josephine Pollard, C. Kathleen Car- 
man, Thomas Dunn English, and Peter McArthur; to 
Judge, for the poem by A. T. Worden ; to Kindergarten 
Review, for the poems by Emma C. Dulaney and Caro- 
lyn S. Bailey; to The Outlook, for the poems by Pauline 
Frances Camp, Francis Sterne Palmer and Edwin H. 
Keen; to The San Francisco Call, for the poem by E. 
Matheson ; to The Smart Set, for the poem by Madeline 
Bridges, and to the Somerville (Mass.) Journal, for The 
Coming Man. 



vi 



Contents 

PAGE 

I. The Mother Heaet 

The First-Born Elisabeth C. Kinney 3 

Whenever a Little Child is Born 4 

Baby's Stars Sarah F. Davis 4 

The Mother's Morning Prayer 5 

Her "World Emily Huntington Miller 6 

What Does Little Birdie Say Alfred Tennyson 7 

My Laddie Harriet F. Blodgett 8 

Wee Willie Winkie 9 

Cuddle Doon Alexander Anderson 10 

The Troublesome Baby Margaret E. Sangster 12 

The Sweetest Place 13 

The Mother's Hymn William Cullen Bryant 14 

The Foster Mother Edwin H. Keen 15 

The Making of the Music W. B. Rands 16 

Sunlight Francis Stern Palmer 17 

Mother's Song IS 

A Divided Kingdom Josephine Pollard 19 

Kyka Edwin Markham 20 

The Mother's Inspiration 21 

My Child Woke Crying From Her Sleep 

George Macdonald 21 

Prophecy 22 

Where's the Baby Alice W. Brotherton 23 

My Children Yamagami no Okura 24 

II. Evening Songs 

After Sunset E. Matheson 27 

A Little Evening Journey 28 

Lullaby James Buckham 29 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Sleep, Baby, Sleep Elizabeth Prentiss 30 

Mothers' Lullabies Alice Ormes 30 

The Cottager to Her Infant Dorothy Wordsworth 31 

The Little Golden Bees Irene Putnam 32 

Shadow-Town Perry Lillian Dynevor Rice 32 

Lullaby Frank Dempster Sherman 33 

Cradle Song Thomas Bailey Aldrich 34 

Mother, Moon and Stars William S. Lord 34 

Cradle Song Isaac Watts 35 

A Summer Lullaby Eudora S. Bumstead 36 

Swedish Mother's Lullaby , 37 

Lullaby Henrik Ibsen 37 

The Way to Sleepy town Nixon Waterman 38 

To a Sleeping Child Arthur Hugh Clough 39 

Gipsy Mother Song May Byron 40 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief Walter Scott 41 

Irish Lullaby Alfred Percival Graves 42 

A Plantation Lullaby Emma C. Dulaney 43 

Lullaby W. B. Rands 44 

Cradle Song Celia Thaxter 45 

A Christmas Lullaby Carolyn S. Bailey 46 

Seeing God W. B. Rands 46 

Old Gaelic Lullaby 47 

My Little Girl Samuel Minturn Peck 48 

The Cradle Song Pauline Frances Camp 49 

We All Need Lullabies Mary Rollins Murphy 50 

Lullaby Alfred Tennyson 51 

Song C. Kathleen Carman 52 

III. The Father's Love 

At Night Richard Watson Gilder 55 

The Welcome Margaret E. Sangster 56 

Little Bell Thomas Westwood 57 

Sixty and Six Tlior.ias Wentworth Higginson 58 

The Toys Coventry Patmore 59 

viii 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Little Mamma Charles Henry Webb 60 

The Baby Victor Hugo 64 

What the Children Say Thomas C. Roney 65 

The First Step Andrew Bice Saxton 67 

Golden Tressed Adelaide Barry Cornwall 68 

Baby George Macdonald 69 

Farewell Advice Charles Kingsley 70 

Two Heavens Leigh Hunt 70 

IV. The Child- World 

A Little Girl Lawrence Alma-Tadema 73 

Wishing William Allingham 74 

The Lamb-Child John B. Tabb 75 

Out of the Mouths of Babes Francis Thompson 75 

Solomon and Mamma 76 

A Little Lad's Answer 77 

The Little Boy's Lament A. T. Worden 78 

The Boy Peter McArthur 80 

The Tyrant of the House Eva Lovett 80 

My Good for Nothing Emily Huntington Miller 81 

Not a Child Algernon Charles Swinburne 82 

V. Child-Pictures 

First Footsteps Algernon Charles Swinburne 86 

The Child William Wordsworth 86 

Iseult's Children Matthew Arnold 87 

Baby's Dimples John B. Tabb 88 

Weighing the Baby Ethelinda Elliott Beers 89 

Sunshine Translated from the French 90 

A Little Blind Child's Smile Dinah Mulock Craik 91 

The Journey 92 

The Babie Jeremiah E. Rankin 93 

What Is the Little One Thinking About. .J. G. Holland 94 

Story Time Albert Bryant 95 

Bedtime 96 

ix 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

His Sixth Birthday Georgiana E. Billings 97 

The Coming Man 98 

Kissed His Mather Eben E. Rexford 99 

Our Darling 100 

Polly W. B. Rands 102 

Karlene Richard Hovey 103 

A Baby's Hands Algernon Charles Swinburne 106 

On the Picture of a Child Tired of Play 

Nathaniel P. Willis 107 

A Child's Laughter Samuel Hinds 10S 

Only a Baby Small M. Barr 109 

A Portrait Elizabeth Barrett Browning 110 

Baby May W. C. Bennett 111 

A Bunch of Roses John B. Tabb 113 

The Mother's Return Dorothy Wordsworth 114 

Little Blue Ribbons Austin Dobson 116 

Nurse's Song William Blake 118 

A Baby's Feet Algernon Charles Swinburne 118 

Letty's Globe Charles Tennyson-Turner 119 

A Child Asleep Elizabeth Barrett Browning 120 

To a Child Henry W. Longfellow 120 

VI. Ministry 

The Little People John Greenleaf Whittier 123 

The Teacher Herbert E. Clark 124 

The Child George E. Woodberry 125 

A Walk With a Child Robert Burns Wilson 126 

The Children's Triumph Frances Ridley Havergal 128 

Empty Stockings Ellen Manly 129 

Children Henry W. Long-fellow 130 

Child Songs .John Greenleaf Whittier 131 

Home They Brought Her W T arrior Dead 

Alfred Tennyson 134 

VII. The Empty Nest 

My Little Boy Dinah Mulock Craik 137 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

We Are Seven William Wordsworth 138 

When the Baby Died Helen Hunt Jackson 140 

The Reaper and the Flowers Henry W. Longfellow 142 

We Watched Her Breathing Thomas Hood 143 

The Mother's Jewels Archbishop Trench 144 

My Bad Little Boy 145 

The Sleeping Babe Samuel Hinds 147 

God's Little Girl Bertha Gerneaux Woods 148 

VIII. Ideals 

A Child of Today James BucJcham 151 

Little Brown Hands M. H. Krout 152 

A November Child Richard Watson Gilder 153 

A Gentleman Margaret E. Sangster 154 

Children Madeline Bridges 155 

The Empty Nest Emily Huntington Miller 156 

Lines to a Child Robert Burns Wilson 157 

Going to Work Dinah Mulock Crailc 158 

Believe That by the Good 159 

To a Timid Child Dinah Mulock Craik. 160 

Mother, Watch 161 

Patience with the Love George Klingle 162 

Innocent Child and Snow-White Flower 

William Cullen Bryant 163 

Have Faith In The Boy 164 

Baby's Christening Emily Huntington Miller 166 

The Children's Appeal Mary Howitt 166 

Grandpapa Dinah Mulock Craik 168 

Three Years She Grew William Wordsworth 169 

On a Child Samuel Rogers 170 

David and Goliath Mary Elizabeth Blake 171 

Little Children Alice Gary 172 

Mother and Child Thomas Hood 172 

The Rosebud Thomas Dunn English 173 

Our Children C. H. Landon 174 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 



IX. The Long Ago 



To Be a Child Again Nora A. Piper 177 

Weariness Henry W. Longfellow 178 

My Other Me Grace Denio Litchfield 179 

Willy Boy, Where Are You Going. .Harriet F. Blodgett 180 

Boyhood Washington Allston 181 

The Barefoot Boy John Greenleaf Whittier 181 

Rock Me to Sleep Elizabeth Akers 185 



xii 



Hfet of awtljot* 



PAGE 

Akers, Elizabeth 185 

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey 34 

Allingham, William 74 

Allston, Washington 181 

Alma, Tadema Lawrence 73 

Anderson, Alexander 10 

Arnold, Matthew 87 

Bailey, Carolyn S .46 

Barr, M. 109 

Beers, Ethelinda Elliott 89 

Bennett, W. C Ill 

Billings, Georgiana B 97 

Blake, Mary Elizabeth 118, 171 

Blodgett, Harriet F 8, 180 

Bridges, Madeline 155 

Brotherton, Alice W 23 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett .... HO, 120 

Bryant, Albert 95 

Bryant, William Cullen 14, 163 

Buckham, James 29, 151 

Bumstead, Eudora S 36 

Byron, May 40 

Camp, Pauline Frances 49 

Carman, C. Kathleen 52 

Cary, Alice 172 

Clark, Herbert E. 124 

xiii 



LIST OF AUTHORS 

PAGE 

Clough, Arthur Hugh 39 

Cornwall, Barry 68 

Craik, Dinah Mulock ... 91, 137, 158, 160, 168 

Davis, Sarah F. ........ 4 

Dobson, Austin 116 

Dulaney, Emma C. 43 

English, Thomas Dunn 173 

Gilder, Richard Watson 55, 153 

Graves, Alfred Percival 42 

Havergal, Frances Ridley 128 

Higginson, Thomas Wentworth . . . . . 58 

Hinds, Samuel 108, 147 

Holland, J. G 94 

Hood, Thomas . 143, 172 

Hovey, Richard 103 

Howitt, Mary .166 

Hugo, Victor . 64 

Hunt, Leigh 70 

Ibsen, Henrik 37 

Jackson, Helen Hunt 140 

Keen, Edwin H 15 

Kingsley, Charles 70 

Kinney, Elizabeth C 3 

Klingle, George 162 

Krout, M. H 152 

Landon, C. H. 174 

Litchfield, Grace Denio 179 

Longfellow, Henry W 120, 130. 142, 178 

Lord, William S. 34 

Lovett, Eva 80 

McArthur, Peter 80 

Macdonald, George 21, 69 

Manly, Ellen 129 

Markham, Edwin . .20 

Matheson, E. f 27 

xiv 



LIST OF AUTHORS 



Miller, Emily Huntington . 

Murphy, Mary Rollins 

Okura, Yamagami no' 

Ormes, Alice 

Palmer, Francis Stern 

Patmore, Coventry 

Peck, Samuel Minturn 

Piper, Nora A. 

Pollard, Josephine 

Prentiss, Elizabeth 

Putnam, Irene 

Rands, W. B. 

Rankin, Jeremiah E. 

Rexford, Eben E. 

Rogers, Samuel 

Roney, Thomas C. 

Sangster, Margaret E. 

Saxton, Andrew Bice . 

Scott, Walter 

Sherman, Frank Dempster 

Swinburne, Algernon Charles 

Tabb, John B. 

Tennyson, Alfred 

Tennyson-Turner, Charles 

Thaxter, Celia 

Thompson, Francis 

Trench, Archbishop 

Waterman, Nixon 

Watts, Isaac 

Webb, Charles Henry 

Westwood, Thomas 

Whittier, John Greenleaf 



82, 



PAGE 

6, 81, 156, 166 

60 

. 24 

30 

. 17 

59 

. 48 

. 177 

. 19 

30 

. 32 

16, 44, 46, 102 

. 93 

99 

. 170 

65 

12, 56, 154 

67 

. 41 

33 

86, 106, 118 

75, 88, 113 

7, 51, 134 

. 119 

. 45 

75 

. 144 

38 

. 35 

60 

. 57 

.123, 131, 181 



Willis, Nathaniel P 107 

Wilson, Robert Burns 126, 157 

Woodberry, George E 125 



LIST OF AUTHORS 

PAGE 

Woods, Bertha Gerneaux 148 

Worden, A. T 78 

Wordsworth, Dorothy 31, 114 

Wordsworth, William .... ,., 86, 138, 169 



xvi 



I 



tfyt jfir$t=315orn 

Tread reverently ! This is a holy place ! 

A soul this moment here begins to be — 

A spirit born to live eternally : 

Speak low ! Commences here a human race. 

An infant man, God's image on his face, 

In life's rough journey takes his first degree, 

Opens his eyes, ah, not the end to see : 

Only Omniscience all that path can trace. 

Softly in whispers; there a mother lies, 

The dew of youth upon her, yet so pale! 

She folds white hands, and looks with upturned 

eyes, 
To her Deliverer, seen as through the veil 
Of this hour's weakness; still her full heart tries 
For thankful utterance, though words may fail. 

'Elizabeth C. Kinney. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wtyntbtt a Hittlt Cf)ttt> te 315ont 

Whenever a little child is born, 
All night a soft wind rocks the corn, 
One more buttercup wakes to the morn, 
Somewhere, somewhere. 

One more rosebud shy will unfold, 
One more grassblade push through the mold, 
One more bird-song the air will hold, 
Somewhere, somewhere. 

315abE'$ g>tat# 

The sun may rise, the sun may set, 
The stars may come and go, 
The moon may sink 
'Neath ocean's brink, 
The sky with clouds o'erflow. 

But still within the baby's heaven 
Two stars shine clear above, 
Twin orbs that light 
By day and night 
His little world of love. 

Brief tears may bring a fleeting mist 
That now the vision mars, 
But sorrow flies; 
For mother's eyes 
Are ever baby's stars. 

Sarah F. Davis. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wfyt spotter's doming prater 

Up to me sweet childhood looketh, 
Heart and mind and soul awake. 
Teach me of Thy ways, Father, 
For sweet childhood's sake. 

In their young hearts soft and tender 
Guide my hand good seed to sow, 
That its blossoming may praise Thee 
Wheresoe'er they go. 

Give to me a cheerful spirit, 
That my little flock may see 
It is good and pleasant service 
To be taught of Thee. 

Father, order all my footsteps; 
So direct my daily way 
That, in following me, the children 
May not go astray. 

Let Thy holy counsel lead me ; 
Let Thy light before me shine, 
That they may not stumble over 
Word or deed of mine. 

Draw us hand in hand to Jesus 
For His word's sake unforgot — 
"Let the little ones come to me 
And forbid them not. ' ' 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Behind them slowly sank the western world, 
Before them new horizons opened wide ; 

" Yonder/ ' he said, "old Rome and Venice wait, 
And lovely Florence by the Arno's tide." 

She heard, but backward all her heart had sped, 

Where the young moon sailed thro ' the sunset red. 

1 'Yonder,' ' she thought, "with breathing soft and 
deep, 

My little lad lies smiling in his sleep/' 

They sailed where Capri dreamed upon the sea, 

And Naples slept beneath her olive trees ; 
They saw the plains where trod the gods of old, 

Pink with the flush of wild anemones. 
They saw the marbles by the master wrought 
To shrine the heavenly beauty of his thought. 
Still ran one longing thro' her smiles and sighs, 
"If I could see my little lad's sweet eyes." 

Down from her shrine the dear Madonna gazed, 
Her baby lying warm against her breast. 

""What does she see?" he whispered, "can she guess 
The cruel thorns against soft temples pressed ? ' ' 

"Ah, no," she said, "she shuts him safe from harms 

"Within the love-locked harbor of her arms. 

No fear of coming fate could make me sad, 

If so, to-night, I held my little lad." 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

' ' If you could choose, ' ' he said, * ' a royal boon, 

Like that girl dancing yonder for the king, 
What gift from all her kingdom would you bid 

Obedient Fortune in her hand to bring V 9 
The dancer 's robe, the glittering banquet hall 
Swam in a mist of tears along the wall. 
"Not power, ,, she said, "nor riches, nor delight, 
But just to kiss my little lad to-night.' ' 

Emily Huntington Miller. 

WW HDoes Mult MMt £mi? 

What does little birdie say, 
In her nest at peep of day? 
"Let me fly/' says little birdie, 

"Mother, let me fly away." 
"Birdie, rest a little longer, 
Till the little wings are stronger. ' ' 
So she rests a little longer, 

Then she flies away. 

What does little baby say, 
In her nest at peep of day? 
Baby says like little birdie, 

"Let me rise and fly away." 
"Baby, sleep a little longer, 
Till the little limbs are stronger, 
If she sleeps a little longer, 

Baby too shall fly away. ' ' 

Alfred Tennyson. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Oh ! have you seen my laddie ? 

You'll know him by his eyes, 
As clear and true, as bright and blue 

As bits of summer skies. 

And by his head so bonnie,— 

You '11 think from every hair, 
A web was spun to catch the sun 

And keep it shining there. 

His lips are curving like a bow, 
His teeth gleam white between, 

Like roses red in garden bed 

His smooth young cheeks are seen. 

Oh ! if you see my laddie, 

Just whisper in his ear 
That day and night, all my delight 

Is thinking of my dear. 

Is thinking of my dearie, 

And long as suns may shine, 
Or rivers flow or winds do blow, 

He is my Valentine. 

Harriett F. Blodgett. 



80NG8 OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wtt Willit Winhit 

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, 
Upstairs and downstairs in his nicht-gown, 
Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, 
"Are the weans in their bed?"— for it's now ten o'clock. 

Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben? 

The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleep in' hen, 

The dog's speldered on the floor and doesna gie a cheep ; 

But here's a waukrife laddie that winna fa' asleep. 

Onything but sleep, ye rogue — glowerin' like the moon 
Rattlin' in an aim jug wi' an aim spoon; 
Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, 
Skirlin' like a kenna what,— wauknin' sleepin' folk. 

Hey, Willie Winkie! The wean's in a creel, 
Waumblin' an 3 a body's knee like a vera eel ! 
Ruggin' at the cat's lug an 'ravellin' a' her thrums; 
Hey, Willie Winkie ! See, there he comes. 

Weary is the mither that has a story wean, 
A wee stumpy stoussie that canna rin his lane, 
That has a battle aye wi' sleep before he'll close an ee; 
But a kiss f rae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me. 



SON 08 OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



CuUUle SDoon 



The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht 

Wie muckle faucht an' din; 
Oh try an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues, 



They never heed a word I speak; 

I try to gie a froon, 
But aye I hap them up an' cry, 

"0 bairnies, cuddle doon." 

Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid — 
He aye sleeps next the wa' — 

Bangs up an* cries, "I want a piece!" 
The rascal starts them a\ 

I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, 

They stop a wee the soun'; 
Then draw the blankets up an 7 cry, 

"Noo, weanies, cuddle doon." 

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab 
Cries oot frae neath the claes, 

"Mither, mak Tarn gie ower at ance- 
He's kittlin' wi' his taes." 

The mischief's in that Tarn for tricks, 

He'd bother half the toon: 
But aye I hap them up an* cry, 

"0 bairnies, cuddle doon." 

10 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

At length they hear their father 's fit, 

An' as he streeks the door, 
They turn their faces to the wa' 

An' Tarn pretends to snore. 

"Hae a' the weans been gude ?" he asks, 

As he pits aff his shoon ; 
"The bairnies, John, are in their beds, 

And lang since cuddled doon." 

An' just before we bed oursel', 

We look at oor wee lambs ; 
Tarn has his airms roun' wee Rab's neck, 

An' Rab his airms roun' Tarn's. 

I lift wee Jamie up the bed, 

An' as I straik each croon, 
I whisper, till my heart fills up, 

1 ' bairnies, cuddle doon. ' ' 

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, 

Wi' mirth that's dear to me; 
But soon the big warl's cark an' care 

Will quaten doon their glee. 

Yet come what will to ilka ane, 

May He who sits abune 
Aye whisper, tho' their pows be bauld, 

1 ' bairnies, cuddle doon. ' ' 

Alexander Anderson. 



ll 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Gfyz troublesome 115ab£ 

The little ones cling to the mother, 
With kisses that softly fall, 

But somehow the troublesome baby 
Is nearest her heart of all— 

111 and fretful and small, 
But dearest to mother of all. 

The neighbors wonder and pity, 
Hearing its querulous cry. 

"She is losing her youth and beauty,' ' 
Say friends as they pass her by ; 

"Well were the babe to die, 

And the mother have rest, ' ' they sigh. 

But over the wee white cradle, 
Her soft eyes full of prayer, 

Bendeth the weary mother; 
And never was face so fair,— 

Pale and tired with care, 

But the glory of love is there. 

Rosy and round and dimpled, 

Dewy with childish sleep, 
She tucks in her other darlings, 

Whom angels watch and keep. 
Ah, if a darker angel 

Anear this treasure creep! 

Bless thee, beautiful mother, 
Thy heart hath a place for all— 

12 



i 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Room for the joys and sorrows, 

However fast they fall; 
Room for the baby small, 

That may love thee better than all. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 



Zty &>totttz$t JJOlaee 

A meadow for the little lambs, 

A honey hive for bees, 
And pretty nests for singing birds 

Among the leafy trees: 
There's rest for all the little ones 

In one place or another; 
But who has half so sweet a place, 

As baby with her mother ? 

The little chickens cuddle close, 

Beneath the old hen's wing; 
"Peep! we're not afraid," they say, 

"Of dark or anything." 
So, safe and sound they nestle there, 

The one beside the other; 
But safer, happier, by far, 

Is baby with her mother. 



13 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Lord, who ordainest for mankind 
Benignant toil and tender cares, 

We thank Thee for the ties that bind 
The mother to the child she bears. 

We thank Thee for the hopes that rise 
Within her heart, as day by day 

The dawning soul from those young eyes 
Looks with a clearer, steadier ray. 

And grateful for the blessing given, 
With that dear infant on her knee, 

She trains the eye to look to heaven, 
The voice to lisp a prayer to Thee. 

Such thanks the blessed Mary gave 
When from her lap the Holy Child, 

Sent from on high to seek and save 

The lost of earth, looked up and smiled. 

All Gracious, grant to those that bear 
A mother's charge, the strength and light 

To lead the steps that own their care 
In ways of Love, and Truth, and Eight. 
William Cullen Bryant. 



14 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

tty $omt spotter 

Sleep, little one ! Again I feel the thrill 
A babe's soft hand can in my breast awaken. 
Hide in my bosom, thou art not forsaken ; 
Sleep, little one! thou hast a mother still. 

My lips I press to thy sweet brow anew, 
Sleep, little one! I am thy mother, too. 

Mine to protect, to cherish, and to rear; 
Why should the baby hand, the flaxen hair, 
Set me a-dreaming of a bygone care, 
And make a far-off sorrow seem so near? 

Wake, little one ! Too much am I beguiled ; 
Too near, too close, the little hands are wrestling, 
Too soft, too warm, the little head is nestling, 
For I am not thy mother, my child ! 

Wake, little one, thy mouth too sweetly smiled, 
For I am not thy mother, O my child ! 

Yet do not wake,— sleep on,— full well I know 
God, in my heart maternal love renewing, 
Intendeth not for my poor heart's undoing, 
Nor builds again a joy to lay it low. 

Sleep, little one ! 'Tis sweet to feel the thrill 
A babe 's soft hand can in my breast awaken. 
Hide in my bosom, thou are not forsaken; 
Sleep, little one ! I am thy mother still. 

Edwin E, Keen. 
15 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

W^t faking of tfce Sputftc 

"Make us a song, mother dear! 

Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing," 

Said the little daughter and little son; 

Their lips were gay, and their eyes were clear— 

1 ' And let the song be an easy one, 

Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing." 

1 ' Sweet to think of, and sweet to hear ? 
How shall I make it, children dear? 
The night is falling, the winds are rough ; 
What will you give me to make it of?" 

"No, mother dear, the winds are soft, 
And the sky is blue and clear aloft, 
And oh! we can give you things enough 
To make the beautiful music of. 

"We will give you the morning and afternoon, 
We will give you the sun and a white full moon 
You shall have all our prettiest toys, 
And fields and flowers, and girls and boys. 

"We will give you a bird, and a ship at sea, 
And a golden cloud, and an almond-tree, 
A picture gay, a river that runs, 
A chime of bells, and hot cross-buns. 

"You may have roses and rubies rare, 
And silks and satins beyond compare, 



16 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

A sceptre and crown, a queen, a king, 
And beautiful dreams, and everything! 
We will give you all that we think or know — 
The song will be sweet if you make it so. " 

Then the mother smiled as she began 
To make the music; and sweet it ran, 
And easy enough, for a strain or two; 
And the children said, "Mother, the song will 
do!" 

But soon the melody ran less clear; 
There came a pause, and a wandering tear, 
And a thought that went back many a year; 
And the children fancied the music long, 
And asked, "What have you put into the song 
That we did not tell you, mother dear?" 

W. B. Bands. 



Sunlight 



I woke in the night, and tossing there, 
To me the world was full of care. 
Now away with such repining! — 
Daybreak's come, the sun is shining: 
My little daughter, laughing here 
Has filled the world with brightest cheer ! 

Francis Sterne Palmer. 



17 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



spotfjer's £>ong 



Don't grow old too fast, my sweet; 

Stay a little while 
In this pleasant babyland 

Sunned by mother's smile. 

Grasp not with thy dimpled hands 

At the world outside; 
They are still too rosy soft; 

Life, too cold and wide. 

Be not wistful, sweet blue eyes ; 

Find your rest in mine, 
Which thro ' life shall watchful be 

To keep all tears from thine. 

Be not restless, little feet ; 

Lie within my hand; 
Far too round these tiny soles 

Yet to try to stand. 

For a while be mine alone, 

So helpless and so dear; 
By and by thou must go forth, 

But now, sweet, slumber here. 



18 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

# SPitutirt fting&om 

My little girl is solemn for her years, 

Her eyes, a tender blue, 
Look at me often through a mist of tears, 

Sweeter than morning dew; 

No need has she to sue 
By word of mouth for any good she craves, 
For I confess my judgment she enslaves, 
And, loving her so well, without demur 
Half of my kingdom I bestow on her. 

My little boy's of quite another sort, 

A merry, laughing sprite, 
Ready for any frolic, full of sport 

And infantile delight 

From morning until night. 
His voice is full of soft, caressing tones; 
It seems as if Love's armory he owns, 
And overcome by such an archer slim, 
Half of my kingdom I bestow on him. 

I have no moneyed wealth, nor do I own 

A single rood of earth; 
A loving heart my treasure is alone, 

And who can tell its worth? 
Without a sordid thought it freely gives 
Its gold and silver, and more nobly lives ; 
For Love 's fair kingdom widens in extent 
Only when thus its revenue is spent. 

Josephine Pollard. 

19 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Child-heart! 
Wild heart! 
What can I bring you, 
What can I sing yon, 
You who have come from a glory afar, 
Called into Time from a secret star ? 

Fleet one! 
Sweet one! 
Whose was the wild hand 
Shaped you in child-land, 
Framing the flesh with a flash of desire, 
Pouring the soul as a fearful fire? 

Strong child! 
Song child! 
Who can unravel 
All your long travel 
Out of the mystery, birth after birth— 
Out of the dim worlds, deeper than Earth? 

Mad thing! 
Glad thing ! 
How will Life tame you ? 
How will God name you? 
All that I know is that you are to me 
Wind over water, star over sea. 



20 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Dear heart! 

Near heart! 

Long is the journey, 

Hard is the tourney, 

Would I could be by your side when you fall — 

Would that my own heart could suffer it all! 

Edwin Markham. 

W$t spotijer'tf ^Inspiration 

Had I no little feet to guide 
Along life's toilsome way, 
My own more frequently might slide, 
More often go astray. 

But when I meet my baby's eyes, 
At God's own bar I stand, 
And angels draw me toward the skies, 
While baby holds my hand. 

£0y Cljila W&t Crying from J^er £>\ztp 

My child woke crying from her sleep. 

I bended o'er her bed 
And soothed her till in slumber deep 

She from the darkness fled. 

And as beside my child I stood, 

A still voice said to me, 
1 ' Even thus thy Father, strong and good, 
Is bending over thee." 

George Macdonald. 
21 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

prophecy 

Upon his wooden hobby horse 

He galloped to the fray, 
The sunlight in his ruffled curls, 

His laughter ringing gay. 
And she who watched that reckless ride 

Across the nursery floor, 
And smiled upon the paper hat 

And the wooden sword he wore, 
Yet saw through mist of sudden tears 

A vision strange and new — 
Her little lad a soldier grown, 

The prophecy come true. 

Years after, when the play was real, 

And through the crowded square 
Brave men to battle marched away 

Amid the trumpet's blare, 
One watched with all a mother's pride 

Their captain strong and tall; 
Yet, as she looked with loving eyes, 

The pageant faded all. 
She only saw a fair-haired child 

Who galloped to the war 
Upon his wooden hobby horse 

Across the nursery floor. 



22 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wtytt'$ tty Bab]? 

Oh, dear, where is the baby gone ? 

I can't tell when I missed him; 
Why, only last night in his crib 

I tucked him safe and kissed him. 
This boy with marbles, top and ball, 

In knickerbockers dressed, 
This cannot be the baby small 

I cradled on my breast. 

I want the weenty-teenty thing 

In dresses soft and white, 
That I could cuddle, kiss and sing 

Soft by-lows to at night. 
But stay — here are the self -same eyes, 

His very dimpled chin, 
These are his rosy pouting lips 

With milk-white teeth within. 

This is my baby — but how changed! 

I hear his merry shout 
As he goes sliding down the stair 

And dancing in and out; 
Splashing and dashing through the brook 

With brow and cheek of tan. 
Heighho, my baby's gone; instead 

I see — a little man. 

Ah, well, when evening comes again 
With sleep and story time, 



23 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

A little white-gowned form will come, 

Into my lap to climb; 
His wee head cradled on my heart 

Will still this yearning pain. 
Oh then I'll know that I have found 

My baby-boy again. 

Alice W. Brotherton. 



tyy Cfcil&rtn 

What nse to me the gold and silver hoard? 
What use to me the gems most rich and rare? 
Brighter by far— ay! bright beyond compare— 
The joys my children to my heart afford. 

Yamagami no Okura. 

(700-750 A. D.) 



24 



II 
evening ^onsjs 



after g>un$et 

One tremulous star above the deepening west; 

The splash of waves upon a quiet beach; 
A sleepy twitter from some hidden nest 

Amidst the clustered ivy, out of reach. 

The sheep -bell's tinkle from the daisied leas; 

The rhythmic fall of homeward- wending feet ; 
A wind that croons amongst the leafy trees, 

And dies away in whispers faint and sweet. 

A pale young moon, whose slender silver bow 
Creeps slowly up beyond the purple hill ; 

And seems to absorb the golden afterglow 
Within the far horizon lingering still. 

An open lattice and the scent of musk; 

Then, through the slumbrous hush of earth and 
sky, 
A tender mother voice that in the dusk 
Sings to a babe some old-world lullaby. 

E. Matheson. 

27 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

SL Mttlt Abetting ^iotmtep 

From Rockaway to Pillowtown, in snowy white arrayed, 
At seven every evening there's a little journey made; 
And the fire on shore is burning as the vessel sails away, 
And the crew is singing softly as we drift adown the bay. 

Singing of "Cock Robin" gay, 
Singing of "Bo-peep"— 

Sailing out of Rockaway 
To the shores of sleep — 

Dropping down to Pillowtown, 
Peacefully we glide 

Down the bay at close of day- 
Drifting with the tide. 

The fire behind grows fainter and the crew is singing low, 
Through drowsy mist I dimly see a welcome land I 

know — 
The purple shores of slumber, where we lay aside all 

care, 
For the blessed bud of childhood finds eternal blossom 

there. 

And eager for those sunlit shores, all clad in snowy 

white, 
A little couple that I know go sailing every night. 
From Rockaway the vessel starts, about the hour of seven 
For that fair town of Pillows, lying just this side of 

Heaven. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Sailing down the quiet bay, 

Singing as we go — 
Swinging out at close of day, 

To the songs we know, 
Dropping down to Pillowtown, 

Peacefully we glide 
Down the bay of Rockaway — 

Drifting with the tide. 

2Lullab£ 

Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, baby, my sweet, 
Pink little fingers and pink little feet, 
Soft is your pillow, your cradle is white, 
Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, baby, good-night! 

Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, hush and be strong, 
Life is a journey, the pathway is long; 
Soon must the baby feet up and away — 
Rest, little pilgrim, oh, rest while you may. 

Drop the white curtains with fringes of brown, 

This is the way into dim Slumbertown, 

Six misty bridges that melt as we pass, 

And street after street that is waving with grass. 

Rock-a-bye, hush-a-bye, baby is gone 
Wandering far, till the peep of the dawn. 
Soft every footstep that passes the sill ! 
Smile and be dumb, when the cradle hangs still ! 

James Buckham. 

29 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

fylttPi 315ab£, g>ieep 

Sleep, baby, sleep; 

Thy father tends the sheep ; 
Thy mother shakes the dreamland tree, 
A little dream falls down on thee. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Sleep, baby, sleep; 

The large stars are the sheep; 
The little stars are the lambs, I guess; 
And the gentle moon is the shepherdess. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Sleep, baby, sleep; 

Our Savior loves His sheep; 
He is the Lamb of God on high, 
Who for our sakes came down to die. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Elizabeth Prentiss. 

spotters? iLuilabte* 

There is a lullaby that mothers croon 
To little children warm upon their breast; 

I cannot fashion you its words or tune, 
Yet know of all sweet songs 'tis tenderest. 

It hath not mode or limit of a note, 

'Tis vague, elusive, as the strains we catch 

Sometimes in dreams, from far angelic throat, 
When Heaven's golden gate is on the latch. 

30 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

'Tis something sweet— mysterious too, in half — 
And far too rare for common lips to keep ; 

The heart of song this side a mother 's laugh, 
Wherewith she lulls a little one to sleep. 

'Tis ever new, yet old as time in part — 
The long years' cradle song — and tired eyes, 

And drowsy little heads against the heart 
Know well the love charm of those lullabies. 

Alice Ormes. 

W$z Cottager to fytt infant 

The days are cold, the nights are long, 
The north-wind sings a doleful song ; 
Then hush again upon my breast; 
All merry things are now at rest, 
Save thee, my pretty Love. 

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth, 
The crickets long have ceased their mirth ; 
There's nothing stirring in the house 
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse — 
Then why so busy thou ? 

Nay, start not at that sparkling light ; 
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright 
On the window pane be-dropped with rain ; 
Then, little Darling, sleep again — 
And wake when it is day. 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 

31 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Z\)t JUttle tfotom Wm 

God send the little golden bees of sleep 
To murmur in the blossom of your ear 

Their gentle summer music husht and deep, 
Their softest slumber songs to you, my dear. 

Irene Putnam. 



Sway to and fro in the twilight gray; 

This is the ferry to Shadow-town. 
It always sails at the end of the day, 

Just as the darkness is coming down. 

Kest, little head, on my shoulder, so— 
A sleepy kiss is the only fare; 

Drifting away from the world we go, 
Baby and I in the rocking-chair. 

See where the fire-logs glow and spark, 
Glitter the lights of the shadow-land ; 

The winter rains on the window,— hark— 
Are ripples lapping upon its strand. 



Rock slow, more slow, in the dusky light, 

Silently lower the anchor down; 
Dear little passenger, say "Good-night,"— 

We have reached the harbor of Shadow-Town. 
Lillian Dynevor Rice. 



32 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

JLullabp 

Slumber, slumber, little one, now 

The bird is asleep in his nest on the bough ; 

The bird is asleep, he has folded his wings, 

And over him softly the dream fairy sings: 

Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby, 

Pearls in the deep — 

Stars in the sky, 
Dreams in our sleep; 
So lullaby. 

Slumber, slumber, little one, soon 
The fairy will come in the ship of the moon ; 
The fairy will come with the pearls and the stars, 
And dreams will come singing through shadowy bars : 
Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby, 
Pearls in the deep — 

Stars in the sky, 
Dreams in our sleep; 
So lullaby. 

Slumber, slumber, little one, so; 
The stars and the pearls and the dream-fairies know ; 
The stars are the pearls, and the bird in the nest, 
A dear little fellow the fairies love best; 
Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby, 
Pearls in the deep — 

Stars in the sky, 
Dreams in our sleep; 
So lullaby. 

Frank Dempster Sherman. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



Cra&le g>ong 



Ere the moon begins to rise 

Or a star to shine, 
All the bluebells close their eyes — 

So close thine; 

Thine, dear, thine! 

Birds are sleeping in the nest, 

On the swaying bough, 
Thus against the mother-breast, 
So sleep thou, 
Sleep, sleep, sleep ! 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 



tyotytti spoon ana g>targ 



The moon is bending o'er the sea, 

As I, my babe, bend over thee; 

She rocks it gently to and fro, 

As now I rock thee — so, and so; 

The wind, her breath, sings softly, "Dear, 

Sleep sweetly now, for I am near." 

The stars look down upon the lea, 
As I, my babe, look down on thee ; 
The earth's at rest; they vigil keep, 
As I watch o'er thy peaceful sleep, 
And through the silence I can hear, 
"Sleep sweetly now, for we are near." 

William S. Lord. 



34 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



CraDle £>ong 



Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, 

Holy angels guard thy bed, 
Heavenly blessings without number 

Gently falling on thy head. 

Soft and easy is thy cradle; 

Coarse and hard thy Savior lay, 
When His birthplace was a stable, 

And His softest bed was hay. 

See the kindly shepherds round Him, 
Telling wonders from the sky; 

"Where they sought Him, there they found 
Him, 
With His virgin Mother by. 

See the lovely babe addressing: 

Lovely infant, how He smiled. 
When He wept, the mother's blessing 

Soothed and hushed the Holy Child. 

Lo, He slumbers in His manger, 

Where the horned oxen fed; 
Peace, my darling, here's no danger; 

Here's no ox anear thy bed. 

Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, 

Trust and love Him all thy days; 
Then go dwell forever near Him, 
See His face and sing His praise. 

Isaac Watts 
35 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

a Rummer ilullabp 

The sun has gone from the shining skies, 

Bye, baby, bye; 
The dandelions have closed their eyes, 

Bye, baby, bye; 
And the stars are lighting their lamps to see 
If the babies and squirrels and birds, all three, 
Are sound asleep, as they ought to be, 

Bye, baby, bye. 

The squirrel is dressed in a coat of gray, 

Bye, baby, bye; 
He wears it by night as well as by day, 

Bye, baby, bye; 
The robin sleeps in his feathers and down, 
With his warm red breast and his wings of brown, 
But the baby wears a little white gown, 

Bye, baby, bye. 

The squirrel's nest is a hole in a tree, 

Bye, baby, bye; 
And there he sleeps as snug as can be; 

Bye, baby, bye; 
The robin's nest is high overhead, 
Where the leafy boughs of the maple spread, 
But the baby's nest is a little white bed, 

Bye, baby, bye. 

Eudora S. Bumstead. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

g>toet)tel) spottier'^ JLullabE 

There sitteth a dove so fair and white 

All on the lily spray, 
And she listeneth how to the Savior above 

The little children pray. 

Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, 
And to heaven's gate hath sped, 

And unto the Father in heaven she bears 
The prayers the children have said. 

And back she comes from heaven's gate, 
And brings — that dove is so mild — 

From the Father in heaven, who hears her speak, 
A blessing for every child. 

ilullabE 

Now roof and rafters blend with the starry vault on 

high — 
Now flieth little Hakon * on dream wings through the 

sky. 
There mounts a mighty stairway from earth to God's 

own land; 
There Hakon with the angels goes climbing hand in 

hand. 
God's angel babes are watching thy cot the still night 

through — 
God bless thee, little Hakon, thy mother watches too. 
♦Hakon, babe. Eenrik Ibsen. 

37 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

W$t Wty to £>leep£toton 

Which is the way to Sleepytown? 
Look in the blinking eyes of brown, 
Or you may find the misty track 
Hid in the half -closed eyes of black; 
Winding about and in and through 
The slumbrous eyes of dreamy blue, 
Or stealing across the eyes of gray,— 
Oh, there you may find the drowsy way. 

Follow along the crooked street, 
Twisting about two tired feet- 
Feet that the whole day through have trod 
Paths that led to the Land of Nod ; 
Keep on going until you come 
To weary fingers and weary thumb, 
Or the lips within whose gates of pearl 
Is the languid tongue of a boy or girl. 

The paths you seek may lead, mayhap, 
Into the peace of a downy lap, 
Where angels have sprinkled the dews of rest 
In a gracious cradle of arms and breast. 
Further along and the way has led 
To the calm of a prayer-encircled bed, 
Where mother is kissing the eyelids down, 
And that is the way to Sleepytown. 

Nixon Waterman. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

to a Sleeping Cljilu 

Lips, lips, open! 
Up comes a little bird that lives inside — 
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out be flies. 
All the day be sits inside, and sometimes be sings, 
Up be comes, and out be goes at night, to spread his 
wings. 

Little bird, little bird, whither will you go ? 
Round about the world, while nobody can know. 
Little bird, little bird, whither can you flee? 
Far away around the world, while nobody can see. 

Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam? 
All around the world, and around again home ; 
Round the round world, and back through the air, 
When the morning comes, the little bird is there. 

Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies, 
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes. 
Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away; 
Little bird will come again by the peep of day. 

Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go 
Round about the world, while nobody can know. 
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round, 
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound. 

Arthur Hugh Clough. 



39 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

&i$8y $$ot\)tt £>ong 

Gold aglow on the gorse, 

And kindly purple over the heather; 
And lilies on the river's course 
Lifting their silver cups together. 
Lullaby and hushaby! 

The wayfaring day is o'er; 
Thou and I, together we lie, 
In the House of the Open Door. 
But for thee and for me, my child, 
Wandering folk and poor, 
There is treasure untold on meadow and moor 
When the wind blows wild. 

Gold aflame on the corn, 

And queenly crimson deep in the heather ; 
And diamonds of the dew at morn 
Flashing their rainbow drops together. 
Lullaby and hushaby! 

The wayfaring day is o'er; 
Thou and I, together we lie, 
In the House of the Open Door. 
But for thee and for me, my child, 
Wandering folk and poor, 

There are jewels of price on meadow and moor 
When the wind blows wild. 

Gold alight in the sky, 

And royal red in the heart of the heather ; 



40 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

And all the night the stars go by, 
Waving their silver swords together. 
Lullaby and hushaby! 

The wayfaring day is o'er; 
Thou and I, together we lie, 
In the House of the Open Door. 
But for thee and for me, my child, 
Wandering folk and poor, 

There are dreams of delight on meadow and moor. 
When the wind blows wild. 

May Byron. 



tLullabp of an 3f[nfant Ctitef 

Oh, hush thee, my baby, thy sire is a Knight, 

Thy mother a Lady both lovely and bright ; 

The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, 

They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 

Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, 
It calls but the warders who guard thy repose; 
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red 
Ere the step of a foeman draw near to thy bed. 

Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come 
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take sleep while you may — 
For strife comes with manhood and waking with day. 

Walter Scott. 



41 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



ifirtei) iUtllabp 



I'd rock my own sweet child to rest 

In a cradle of gold on a bough of the willow, 
To the shoheen-ho of the wind of the west, 
And the lulla-lo of the soft sea billow. 
Sleep, baby dear, 
Sleep without fear, 
Mother is here beside your pillow. 

I'd put my own sweet childie to sleep 

In a silver boat on the beautiful river, 
"Where a shoheen whisper the white cascades, 
And a lulla-lo the green flags shiver. 
Sleep, baby dear, 
Sleep without fear, 
Mother is here with you forever. 

Lulla-lo, to the rise and fall 

Of mother's bosom 'tis sleep has bound you, 
And oh, my child, what cosier nest 
For rosier rest could love have found you? 
Sleep, baby dear, 
Sleep without fear, 
Mother's two arms are clasped around you. 
Alfred Percival Graves. 



42 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Si plantation ilullabp 

By-o, by-lo, mah li '1 baby ! 

Shet yuh eyes, so blue an' bright, 
Fuh de evenin's wropped 'er cuht'n 

Roun' de sun, ter hide de light. 

In de sky de styahs 're twinklin ' ; 

An' de shadders 'gin ter creep 
Roun' ol' mammy an' huh li'l lam'. 

By-o, by-lo, sof 'ly sleep ! 

Dream ontwell de rosy mawnin' 
Back'ard maks de cuht'n roll, 

An' sen's de li'l smilin' sunbeams 
Playin' thoo yuh cyuhls o' gol'. 

All de buhds hev stop deih twitt'rin', 
Lay yuh head on mammy's breas', 

Fuh de flowahs low 're noddin', 
By-o, by-lo, tek yuh res'! 

By-o, by-lo, mah li'l baby! 

Deah Lawd, let de angels bright 
Keep fom hahm dis preshus li'l chile 

Thoo de dahk hours o' de night! 

Emma C. Dulaney. 



43 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



!lullabE 



The wind whistled loud at the window-pane — 
Go away, wind, and let me sleep ! 

Ruffle the green grass' billowy plain, 
Ruffle the billowy deep! 

' ' Hush-a-bye, hush ! the wind is fled, 

The wind cannot ruffle the soft smooth bed,— 
Hush thee, darling, sleep ! ' ' 

The ivy tapped at the window-pane — 

Silence, ivy, and let me sleep ! 
Why do you patter like drops of rain, 

And then play creepity-creep ? 
" Hush-a-bye, hush! the leaves shall lie still, 
The moon is walking over the hill,— 

Hush thee, darling, sleep ! ' ' 

A dream-show rode in on a moonbeam white— 
Go away, dreams, and let me sleep ! 

The show may be gay and golden bright, 
But I do not care to peep. 

1 ' Hush-a-bye, hush ! the dream is fled, 

A shining angel guards the bed,— 
Hush thee, darling, sleep!" 

W. B. Rands. 



44 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



CraDle g>ong 



In the winged cradle of sleep I lay 

My darling gently down; 
Kissed and closed are his eyes of gray, 

Under his curls' bright crown. 

Where, oh where, will he fly and float 
In the winged cradle of sleep? 

Whom will he meet in the worlds remote, 
While he slumbers soft and deep? 

Warm and sweet as a white blush rose, 

His small hand lies in mine; 
But I cannot follow him where he goes, 

And he gives no word nor sign. 

Keep him safe, ye heavenly powers, 

In dreamland vast and dim; 
Let no ill, through the night's long hours, 

Come nigh to trouble him. 

Give him back when the dawn shall break, 
With his matchless baby charms, 

With his love and his beauty all awake, 
Into my happy arms. 

Celia Thaxter. 



45 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

a Ctjrtetmaa ILullabp 

Where does my baby lay his head 

When the fire burns low 

And his eyes droop so, 
And mother dear sings to him soft and slow ? 

In the flickering firelight, warm and red, 

He sleeps in his own little cradle bed. 

Where does the Christ child lay His head 

While the small gray sheep 

And the oxen sleep, 
And Mary sits watching His slumber deep? 

No pillow has He, but the hay instead; 

In Bethlehem's manger, His lowly bed. 

Lullaby, hushaby, soft and slow, 
The Angels of God wing to and fro. 
Two little babies they bend to see — 
One with Mary and one with me. 

Carolyn S. Bailey. 

It is dark, the night is come, 
And the world is hushed and dumb; 
Sleep, my darling; God is here! — 
"Shall I see Him, mother dear?" 

It is day, the sun is bright, 
And the world is laid in light; 

46 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

"Wake, my darling; God is here! — 
1 'Shall I see Him, mother dear?" 

Not the day's awakening light, 
Babe, can show thee God aright ; 
Not the dark, that brings thee sleep, 
Him can from my darling keep. 

Day and night are His to fill; 
We are His to do His will; 
Do His will, and, never fear, 
Thou shalt see Him, baby dear. 

W. B. Bands. 



®lb Gaelic ilullab^ 



Hush! the waves are rolling in, 
"White with foam, white with foam; 

Father toils amid the din, 
But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the wind roars hoarse and deep— 
On they come, on they come ! 

Brother seeks the wandering sheep; 
But baby sleeps at home. 

Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes, 
Where they roam, where they roam ; 

Sister goes to seek the cows, 
But baby sleeps at home. 



47 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



$$y tlittle &it\ 



My little girl is nested 

Within her tiny bed, 
With amber ringlets crested 

Around her dainty head — 
She lies so calm and stilly, 

She breathes so soft and low, 
She calls to mind a lily 

Half-hidden in the snow. 

A weary little mortal 

Has gone to Slumberland; 
The Pixies at the portal 

Have caught her by the hand 
She dreams her broken dolly 

Will soon be mended there, 
That looks so melancholy 

Upon the rocking-chair. 

I kiss your wayward tresses, 

My drowsy little queen; 
I know yon have caresses 

From floating forms unseen. 
Angels, let me keep her 

To kiss away my cares — 
This darling little sleeper 

Who has my love and prayers. 

Samuel Minium Peck. 



48 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

f&ty Cra&le gwtg 

There 's a baby moon rocking far up in the sky, 
And the night wind is blowing a soft lullaby; 
And down, away down, in a mossy lined nest, 
Are five little birdies 'neath mother's warm breast. 
hushaby, little one., sleep. 

Enfolded in arms that a loving hold keep, 
Another wee baby is rocking to sleep; 
A soft golden head presses close to my heart, 
And darkly fringed eyelids just drowsily part — 
hushaby, little one, sleep. 

The tiny star candles are lighting the way 
For birdies and elves that to Sleepytown stray, 
But my baby's stars are his mother's brown eyes, 
That lovelight his pathway as to dreamland he hies. 
hushaby, little one, sleep. 

The silver moon-baby sinks low in the west, 
The chirping is hushed in the little brown nest ; 
And swinging and swaying, with eyes closing fast, 
My little one crosses the border at last. 
hush thee, my little one, sleep. 

Pauline Frances Camp. 



49 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wt #11 jpetf) ILuliabtesf 

We all need lullabies, 

To hush our cries and sighs; 

God, gentle-hearted, knows 

Our weary list of woes, 

And sends his tenderest songs 

Tuned to life's needs and wrongs. 

Heaven's mother-songs for me 
Are like infinity — 
Unfailing, limitless, 
Great with my God's caress, 
Songs in the night they are, 
Heard best in fret and jar. 

They sing to my soul's woe, 
Soothing, all soft and slow, 
To-night a lullaby — 
Sweet, like an angel's sigh; 
Songs full and pure, for me 
A mother-melody. 

From out the unhusked corn, 
All frayed and torn and worn, 
Comes comfort sure and true, 
Through proud plumes bowed with dew 
The wind sings pityingly— 
It is God's voice to me. 

Hush, hush, my child, and rest; 
Come to my waiting breast; 

50 



BONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Lie there, tired head, and sleep! 
Hush, hush, oh, no more weep — 
God 's love thy life will keep ! 
Hush, hush, my child, and sleep. 

Mary Rollins Murphy. 



iiuwm 



Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea; 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the western sea. 
Over the rolling waters go; 
Come from the dying moon and blow, 

Blow him again to me; 
WTiile my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Rest, rest, on mother's breast; 

Father will come to thee soon. 
Father will come to his babe in the nest; 
Silver sails all out of the west, 

Under the silver moon; 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



51 



£>ong 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



Sleep, my darling, sleep, 
Safe folded are the sheep, 
The faint stars lie in the quiet sky, 
The soft wind croons thy lullaby ; 
The leaves upon the linden tree 
Are whispering tenderly to thee, 
And close at hand lies Slumberland, 
sleep, my darling, sleep. 

Wake, my darling, wake, 

The sunbeams kiss the lake; 

The seagulls fly to the eastern sky, 

The happy ships are sailing by; 

The birds upon the linden tree 

Are calling merrily to thee; 

The whole glad earth is rimmed with mirth, 

O wake, my darling, wake! 

C. Kathleen Carman. 



52 



Ill 



#t jptg&t 

The sky is dark and dark the bay below 
Save where the midnight city's pallid glow 
Lies like a lily white 
On the black pool of night. 

O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way 
Across the swirling kills and gusty bay, 
To where the eddying tide 
Strikes hard the city's side. 

For there, between the river and the sea 
Beneath that glow, — the lily's heart to me,— 
A sleeping mother mild, 
And by her breast a child. 

Richard Watson Gilder. 



55 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

t\z Welcome 

Anither bairn cam , hame 

Hame to mither and me! 
It was yestreen in the gloamin'— 

When scarce was a light to see 
The wee bit face o' the darlin'— 

That its greetin' cry was heard 
And crowdin' close we made a place 

To haud anither bird! 

Sax little bonnie mouths 

Ah me ! tak ' muckle to fill, 
But to grudge the bit t' the seventh 

For mither and me were ill ! 
Oh ! nestle up closer, dearie, 

Lie saft on the snawy breast, 
"Where fast life's fountain floweth 

When the twa warm lips are prest. 

The rich man counteth his cares 

By the shinin' gowd in 's hand, 
By 's ships that sail on the sea, 

By 's harvests that whiten the land 
The puir man counteth his blessings 

By the ring o' voices sweet, 
By the hope that glints in bairnies' een, 

By the sound o' bairnies' feet. 



56 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

An' it's welcome hame, my darlin'! 

Hame to mither an' me! 
An' it's never may ye find less o' love 

Than the love ye brought wi' ye! 
Cauld are the blasts o' the wild wind 

And rough the world may be, 
But warm's the hame o' the wee one 

In the hearts o' mither an' me! 

Margaret E. Sangster. 

iUttfc UMl 

By her snow-white cot at close of day, 
Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray: 

Very calm and clear 
Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, 
In blue heaven, an angel shape serene 

Paused awhile to hear. 

"What good child is this," the angel said, 
"That, with happy heart, beside her bed 

Prays so lovingly?" 
Low and soft, oh ! very low and soft, 
Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, 

"Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he. 

"Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair 
Murmured, ' l God doth bless with angels ' care ; 

Child, thy bed shall be 
Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind, 
Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind, 

Little Bell, for thee." 

Thomas Westwood. 

57 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

fyixty ana &fr 

Joy of the morning, 

Darling of dawning, 
Blithe little, lithe little daughter of mine, 

While with thee ranging, 

Sure I'm exchanging 
Sixty of my years for six years like thine. 

Wings cannot vie with thee, 

Lightly I fly with thee, 
Gay as the thistledown over the lea; 

Life is all magic, 

Comic or tragic, 
Played as thou playest it daily with me. 

Floating and ringing, 

Thy merry singing 
Comes when the light comes, like that of the birds. 

List to the play of it,— 

That is the way of it; 
All's in the music and naught in the words. 

Glad or grief-laden, 

Schubert or Haydn, 
Ballad of Erin or merry Scotch lay; 

Like an evangel 

Some baby angel 
Brought from sky-nursery, stealing away. 

Surely I know it, 
Artist nor poet 



58 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Guesses my treasure of jubilant hours. 

Sorrows, what are they? 

Nearer or far, they 
Vanish in sunshine, like dew from the flowers. 

Years, I am glad of them. 

Would that I had of them 
More and yet more, while thus mingled with thine ! 

Age, I make light of it, 

Fear not the sight of it; 
Time's but our playmate, whose toys are divine. 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson. 

My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes 

And moved and spoke in quiet, grown-up wise, 

Having my law the seventh time disobeyed, 

I punished him, and so dismissed 

With hard words and unkissed, — 

His mother, who was patient, being dead. 

Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, 

I visited his bed, 

But found him slumbering deep, 

With darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet 

From his late sobbing wet. 

And I, with moan, 

Kissing away his tears, left others of my own ; 

For, on a table, drawn beside his head, 

He had put, within his reach, 

A box of counters and a red- veined stone, 

59 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

A piece of glass abraded by the beach 

And six or seven shells, 

A bottle with bluebells, 

And two French copper coins, ranged there with 

careful art, 
To comfort his sad heart. 

So when that night I prayed 

To God, I wept and said: 

Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath, 

Not vexing Thee in death, 

And Thou rememberest of what toys 

We made our joys, 

How weakly understood 

Thy great commanded good, 

Then, fatherly not less 

Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, 

Thou 'It leave Thy wrath, and say, 

"I will be sorry for their childishness. ' ' 

Coventry Patmore. 

iltttle ^amma 

Why is it the children don't love me 

As they do mamma % 
That they put her ever above me, 

"Little mamma"? 
I'm sure I do all that I can do. 
What more can a rather big man do, 
Who can't be mamma — 

60 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Little mamma? 
Any game that the tyrants suggest, 
"Logomachy"— which I detest, — 
Doll-babies, hop-scotch or base-ball, 
I'm always on hand at the call. 
When Noah and the others embark 
I'm the elephant saved in the ark. 
I creep and I climb and I crawl — 
By turns am the animals all. 

For the show on the stair 

I'm always the bear, 

Chimpanzee, camel or kangaroo. 

It's never " Mamma- 
Little mamma — 

Won't you? " 

My umbrella's the pony, if any; 

None ride on mamma's parasol. 

I 'm supposed to have always the penny 

For bonbons and beggars and all. 

My room is the one where they clatter— 

Am I reading or writing, what matter? 

My knee is the one for a trot, 

My foot is the stirrup for Dot. 

If his fractions get into a snarl 

Who straightens the tangles for Karl? 

Who bounds Massachusetts and Maine? 

And tries to bound flimsy old Spain ? 



61 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Why, 

It is I, 

Papa,— 

Not little mamma. 

That the youngsters are ingrates don't say, 

I think they love me in a way, 

As one does the old clock on the stair — 

Any curious, cumbrous affair 

That one's used to having about, 

And would feel rather lonely without. 

I think that they love me, I say, 

In a sort of a tolerant way ; 

But it's plain that papa 

Isn't little mamma. 

Thus when shadows come stealing anear, 

And things in the firelight look queer ; 

When shadows the playroom enwrap, 

They never climb into my lap 

And toy with my head, smooth and bare, 

As they do with mamma's shining hair ; 

Nor feel round my throat and my chin 

For dimples to put fingers in; 

Nor lock my neck in a loving vise 

And say they're "mousies" — that's mice — 

And will nibble my ears, 

Will nibble and bite 
With their little mice-teeth, so sharp and so white, 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

If I do not kiss them this very minute — 
Don 't- wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it, — 

Dear little papa. 

That's what they say and do to mamma. 

If, mildly hinting, I quietly say that 
Kissing 's a game that more can play at, 
They turn up at once their innocent eyes 
And I suddenly learn to my great surprise 

That my face has prickles— 

My mustache tickles. 
If storming their camp I seize a pert shaver, 
And take as a right what was asked as a favor, 

It is "0 papa, 

How horrid you are, 

You taste exactly like a cigar." 

But tho' the rebels protest and pout, 
And make a pretense of driving me out, 
I hold, after all, the main redoubt — 
Not by force of arms nor by force of will, 
But the power of love which is mightier still. 
And very deep in their hearts I know, 
Under the saucy and petulant "Oh," 
The doubtful "Yes" or the naughty "No, ; 
They love papa. 
And down in the heart that no one sees, 
Where I hold my feasts and my jubilees, 
I know that I would not abate one jot, 
Of the love that is held by my little Dot, 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Or my great big boy for their little mamma, 
Though out in the cold it crowded papa. 
I would not abate it the tiniest whit, 
And I am not jealous the least little bit; 
For I'll tell you a secret, come my dears, 
And I'll whisper it right-into-your-ears— • 

I, too, love mamma, 

Little mamma. 

Charles Henry Webb. 

tfyt 315ab£ 

Like a tiny glint of light piercing through the dusky 

gloom, 
Comes her little laughing face through the shadows of 

my room. 

And my pen forgets its way as it hears her pattering 

tread, 
While her prattling treble tones chase the thoughts from 

out my head. 

She is queen and I her slave, one who loves her and 

obeys ; 
For she rules her world of home with imperious baby 

ways. 

In she dances, calls me "Dear!" turns the pages of my 
books, 

Thrones herself upon my knee, takes my pen with laugh- 
ing looks. 

Makes disorder reign supreme, turns my papers upside 
down, 

64 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Draws me cabalistic signs, safe from fear of any frown. 

Crumples all my verses up, pleased to hear the crackling 

sound ; 
Makes them into balls and then— flings them all upon 

the ground. 

Suddenly she flits away, leaving me alone again 
With a warmth about my heart, and a brighter, clearer 
brain. 

And although the thoughts return, that her coming 

drove away, 
The remembrance of her laugh lingers with me thro' 

the day. 

And it chances as I write, I may take a crumpled sheet, 
On the which, God knoweth why ! read my fancies twice 
as sweet. 

Victor Hugo. 



WW tyt Ciiitorm g>a£ 

When in the dusk of evening I come to where I see 
Three little faces at the window looking down at me, 
And hear the shout of "Papa" and the sound of scam- 
pering feet, 
And find myself a prisoner ere I can beat retreat, 
The robbers seize my parcels and search my pockets 

through, 
And bear me to their castle spite of all that I can do. 

65 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

There the queen of these bandits gently chides their 
boist'rous glee, 

And asks how many kisses it will take to ransom me. 

Oh, is there any pleasure in all the busy day 

That's quite as sweet as listening to what the children 
say? 

Helen thinks a hundred kisses are enough to ransom me, 

If I'll change them all for pennies bright as soon as I 
am free ; 

While Henry claims that "Papa is more valuable than 
that," 

And so the rascal confiscates my overcoat and hat. 

But tender-hearted Josephine makes terms for my re- 
lease ; 

"We'll let you go, dear papa, for just one kiss apiece." 

When I've paid my ransom duly, this valiant robber 
band 

Escorts me to the table, with a guard on either hand. 

There for a blessed hour I fling my cares away 

And grow younger as I listen to what the children say. 

From my prison in the study, I detect them stealing by, 

Till they think they're out of hearing, then with shouts 
away they fly, 

All about the house they frolic— now below, now over- 
head. 

Little chance I'll have for study 'till they're snugly 
tucked in bed. 

But at last there comes a silence, and I tiptoe out to see 

Three little sober faces clustered at mother 's knee. 



66 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Their prayer, " Please bless dear papa" never fails to 

put to rout 
Every skeptical opinion or philosophic doubt. 
When the world looks cold and cheerless, and heaven 

seems far away 
Just stop, my friend, and listen to what the children say. 

Thomas C. Roney. 



W$t jftat g>tep 

My little one begins his feet to try, 

A tottering, feeble, inconsistent way ; 

Pleased with the effort, he forgets his play, 
And leaves his infant baubles where they lie. 

Laughing and proud, his mother flutters nigh, 
Turning to go, yet joy-compelled to stay 
And, bird-like, singing what her heart would say; 

But not so certain of my bliss am I. 

For I bethink me of the days in store 
Wherein those feet must traverse realms unknown, 

And half forget the pathway to our door. 
And I recall that in the seasons flown 
We were his all — as he was all our own — 

But never can be quite so any more. 

Andrew Bice Saztow. 



67 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

tftotoen tm&to aoelafoe 

Sing, I pray, a litle song, 

Mother dear, 
Neither sad nor very long; 
It is for a little maid, 
Golden-tressed Adelaide. 
Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear, 

Mother dear. 

Let it be a merry strain, 

Mother dear, 
Shunning e'en the thought of pain, 
For our gentle child will weep, 
If the theme be dark or deep ; 
And we will not draw a single, single tear, 

Mother dear. 

Childhood should be all divine, 

Mother dear. 
And like endless summer shine ; 
Gay as Edward's shouts and cries, 
Bright as Agnes' azure eyes: 
Therefore bid thy song be merry;— dost thou hear, 

Mother dear ? 

Barry Cornwall. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

315abB 

Where did you come from, baby dear? 
Out of the everywhere into here. 

Where did you get those eyes so blue? 
Out of the sky as I came through. 

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? 
Some of the starry spikes left in. 

Where did you get that little tear? 
I found it waiting when I got here 

What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? 
A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? 
I saw something better than anyone knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? 
Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 

Where did you get this pearly ear ? 
God spoke and it came out to hear. 

Where did you get those arms and hands? 
Love made itself into hooks and bands. 

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? 
From the same box as the cherubs' wings. 

How did they all just come to be you ? 
God thought about me and so I grew. 

69 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

How did you come to us, my dear? 
God thought about you and so I am here. 

George Macdonald. 

jfaretodi #t)fcice 

Farewell, dear child, I have no song to give thee, 
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray. 
But ere we part, one lesson I would leave thee, 
For every day. 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever. 
Do noble things, not dream them all day long ; 
And so make life, death, and that vast forever, 
One grand, sweet song. 

diaries Kingsley. 

£foo ^eatoens 

For there are two heavens, sweet, 
Both made of love,— one, inconceivable 
Ev'n by the other, so divine it is; 
The other, far on this side of the stars, 
By men called home. 

Leigh Hunt. 



70 



IV 



3 llittle <£trl 

If no one ever marries me — 
And I don't see why they should, 

For nurse says I'm not pretty, 
And I'm seldom very good— 

If no one ever marries me, 

I shan't mind very much, 
I shall buy a squirrel in a cage, 

And a little rabbit-hutch; 

I shall have a cottage near a wood, 

And a pony all my own, 
And a little lamb quite clean and tame, 

That I can take to town. 

And when I'm getting really old, 

At twenty-eight or nine— 
I shall buy a little orphan girl, 

And bring her up as mine. 

Lawrence Alma-Tadema. 

73 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

wistym 

Ring-ting ! I wish I were a primrose, 
A bright yellow primrose blowing in the spring, 
The stooping boughs above me, 
The wandering bee to love me, 
The fern and moss to creep across, 
And the Elm-tree for our king. 

Nay-stay ! I wish I were an Elm-tree, 
A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay. 
The winds would set them dancing, 
The sun and moonshine glance in, 
The birds would house among the boughs, 
And sweetly sing. 

Oh no ! I wish I were a robin, 

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go, 

Through forest, field, or garden, 

And ask no leave or pardon, 
Till winter comes with icy thumbs, 

To ruffle up our wing. 

Well-tell ! Where should I fly to, 

Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ? 

Before a day was over, 

Here comes the rover, 
For mother's kiss, sweeter this, 

Than any other thing. 

William Allingham. 



74 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wfyt JLamb Ctjito 

When Christ the Babe was born, 

Full many a little lamb 
Upon the wintry hills forlorn 

Was nestled near its dam; 

And, waking or asleep, 
Upon His mother's breast, 

For love of her, each mother-sheep 
And baby-lamb He blessed. 

John B. Taob. 

®ut of tije spoutfys of Babes; 

Little Jesus, wast thou shy 

Once, and just as small as I? 

And what did it feel to be 

Out of heaven and just like me? 

Didst thou sometimes think of there, 

And ask where all the angels were? 

I should think that I would cry 

For my house all made of sky ; 

I would look about the air, 

And wonder where my angels were ; 

And at waking 'twould distress me — 

Not an angel there to dress me ! 

Hadst Thou ever any toys 

Like us little girls and boys? 

And didst thou play in heaven with all 

The angels that were not too tall, 

75 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

With stars for marbles? Did the things 

Play "Can yon see me?" through their wings? 

And did thy mother let thee spoil 

Thy robes with playing on onr soil ? 

How nice to have them always new 

In heaven because 'twas quite clean blue ! 

Didst thou kneel at night to pray, 

And didst thou join thy hands this way ? 

And didst thou tire sometimes, being young, 

And make the prayer seem very long? 

And did thy mother at the night, 
Kiss thee and fold the clothes in right ? 
And didst thou feel quite good in bed, 
Kist, and sweet and thy prayers said ? 

Thou canst not have forgotten all 
That it feels like to be small. 
And thou knowest I cannot pray 
To Thee in my father's way — 
When thou wast so little, say 
Couldst thou talk thy Father's way? 

Francis Thompson. 



Solomon ana spamma 

Solomon says in words so mild, 
"Spare the rod and spoil the child.' ' 
My mamma thinks as well as he, 
A little whipping's good for me. 

76 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



a iLittle llau'sf 0nsfoer 



Our little lad came in one day 

With dusty shoes and tired feet; 
His play time had been hard and long, 

Out in the summer noontide heat. 
* ' I 'm glad I 'm home ! ' ' he cried, and hung 

His torn straw hat up in the hall, 
While in the corner by the door 

He put away his bat and ball. 

"I wonder why," his auntie said, 

"This little lad comes always here, 
When there are many other homes 

As nice as this and quite as near?" 
He stood a moment deep in thought, 

Then with a love-light in his eye, 
He pointed where his mother sat, 

And said : ' * She lives here ; that is why. ' ' 

With beaming face the mother heard ; 

Her mother-heart was very glad. 
A true, sweet answer he had given,— 

That thoughtful, loving little lad. 
And well I know that hosts of lads 

Are just as loving, true and dear ; 
That they would answer as he did : 

" 'Tis home, for mother's living here." 



77 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

tty iLittle Boe'S lament 

I'm goin' back down to gran 'pa's, 

I won't come back no more 
To hear remarks about my feet 

A-muddyin' up the floor. 
They's too much said about my clothes, 

The scoldin's never done — 
I'm goin' back down to gran 'pa's, 

Where a boy can hev some fun. 

I dug up half his garden 

A-gettin' worms fer bait; 
He said he used to like it 

When I laid abed so late ; 
He said that pie was good fer boys 

An' candy made 'em grow. 
Ef I cain't go to gran 'pa's, 

I '11 turn pirate, fust you know. 

He let me take his shot-gun 

An ' loaded it fur me. 
The cats they hid out in the barn, 

The hens flew up a tree ; 
I had a circus in the yard 

With twenty other boys — 
I'm goin' back down to gran 'pa's, 

Where they ain't afraid of noise. 



78 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

He didn 't make me comb my hair 

But once or twice a week ; 
He wasn't watchin' out fer words 

I didn't orter speak; 
He told me stories 'bout the war, 

An' Injuns shot out West, 
Oh I'm goin' down to gran 'pa's, 

Fer he knows wot boys like best. 

He even run a race with me, 

But had to stop an' cough; 
He rode my bicycle an ' laughed 

Bee 'us he tumbled off; 
He knew the early apple trees 

Around within a mile, — 
Oh, gran 'pa was a dandy 

An' was "in it" all the while. 

I bet you gran 'pa's lonesome 

I don't care what you say; 
I seen him kinder cryin' 

When you took me away. 
When you talk to me of heaven 

Where all the good folks go, 
I guess I'll go to gran 'pa's, 

An' we'll have good times, I know. 



A. T, Warden, 



19 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

W$t H5o£ 

They brought him toys of every kind 

They could devise or buy, 
Intended to improve the mind, 

To please yet train the eye. 

The boy turned wearily away, 
And then with might and main 

Began astride a chair to play, 

"Whooooo! I'm a choo-choo train.' ' 

Peter Mc Arthur. 

tty Zytmt of tlje fyoutt 

While baby sleeps 
"We cannot jump, or dance, or sing, 
Play jolly games or do a thing 
To make a noise. The floor might creak 
If we should walk! We scarcely speak 
Or breathe while baby takes a nap, 
Lest we should wake the little chap ! 
A strict watch Nursie always keeps 

While baby sleeps! 

When baby wakes 
But little gratitude he shows, 
When other people want to doze ! 
At night, when folks have gone to bed, 
He rouses them all up instead, 
To wait on him. Ma lights the lamp. 

80 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

And warms milk for the little scamp ! 
Pa walks him up and down the floor 
Sometimes two hours and sometimes more ! 
And nurse comes running, in a stew, 
To see what she for him can do ! 
And Will and Harry at the row 
Call: "What's the matter with him now?" 
And I'm waked up at all the clatter 
To wonder what on earth 's the matter ! 
Such uproar in the house he makes, 
When baby wakes ! 

So if asleep or if awake, 
The house exists but for his sake, 
And such a tiny fellow — he, 
To be boss of this family ! 

Eva Lovett. 



$ty d5oo& for J^ottjing 

What are you good for, my brave little man? 
Answer that question' for me if you can, 
You with your ringlets as bright as the sun, 
You with your fingers as white as a nun. 
All the day long with your busy contriving 
Into all mischief and fun you are driving. 
See if your wise little noddle can tell 
What you are good for, now ponder it well. 



81 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Over the carpet the dear little feet 

Came with a patter to climb on my seat ; 

Two merry eyes full of frolic and glee 

Under the lashes looked up unto me ; 

Two dimpled hands pressing soft on my face, 

Drew me down close in a loving embrace ; 

Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, 

1 ' Good to love you, mamma, good to love you. ' ' 

Emily Huntington Miller. 

jpot a CljtiD 

"Not a child; I call myself a boy," 

Says my king with accents stern yet mild, 

Now nine years have brought him change of joy ; 

"Not a child." 
How could reason be so far beguiled, 
Err so far from senses' safe employ? 
Stray so far from truth or run so wild ? 

Seeing his face bent over book or toy, 
"Child" I called him smilingly; but he smiled 
Back as one too high for vain annoy — 
"Not a child." 

Algernon Charles Swinburne. 



V 



jFirtft jfootsteps? 

A little way, more soft and sweet 

Than fields aflower with May, 
A babe's feet, venturing, scarce complete 

A little way. 

Eyes full of dawning day 

Look up for mother's eyes to meet, 
Too blithe for song to say. 

Glad as the golden spring to greet 

Its first live leaflet's play, 
Love, laughing, leads the little feet 

A little way. 

Algernon Charles Swinburne. 



85 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

# # # # 

Behold the child among his new-born blisses, , 
A six-years ' darling of a pigmy size ! 
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
With light upon him from his father's eyes! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 
Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral; 

And this hath now his heart, 

And unto this he frames his song : 

Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love or strife ; 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part; 
Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" 
With all the persons, down to palsied age, 
That Life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 

•X* w w <w 

"Ode. Intimations of Immortality. ' ■ 

William Wordsworth. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

3l*tult'* Cfcttorm 

They sleep in sheltered rest, 

Like helpless birds in the warm nest, 

On the castle 's southern side ; 

Where feebly comes the mournful roar 

Of buffeting wind and surging tide 

Through many a room and corridor. 

Full on their window the moon's ray 

Makes the chamber as bright as day. 

It shines upon the blank white walls, 

And on the snowy pillow falls, 

And on two angel-heads doth play 

Turned to each other— the eyes closed, 

The lashes on the cheeks reposed. 

Round each sweet brow the cap close-set 

Hardly lets peep the golden hair; 

Through the soft-opened lips the air 

Scarcely moves the coverlet. 

One little wandering arm is thrown 

At random on the counterpane, 

And often the fingers close in haste 

As if their baby owner chased 

The butterflies again. 

This stir they have, and this alone ; 

But else they are so still. 

Ah, tired madcaps, you lie still ; 
But were you at the window now, 
To look forth on the fairy sight 



87 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Of your illumined haunts by night, 

To see the park-glades where you play 

Far lovelier than they are by day, 

To see the sparkle on the eaves, 

And upon every giant bough, 

Of these old oaks, whose red, wet leaves 

Are jewelled with bright drops of rain — 

How would your voices run again. 

And far beyond the sparkling trees 

Of the castle park one sees 

The bare heaths spreading, clear as day, 

Moor behind moor, far, far away, 

Into the heart of Brittany. 

And here and there, locked by the land, 

Long inlets of smooth, glittering sea, 

And many a stretch of watery sand 

All shining in the white moon-beams — 

But you see fairer in your dreams. 

Matthew Arnold. 

Wubtfst 2r>tmples 

Love goes playing hide-and-seek 
With the roses on her cheek, 
With a little imp of laughter, 
Who, the while he follows after, 
Leaves the footprints that we trace 
All about the kissing-place. 

John B. Tail. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

"How many pounds does the baby weigh — 
Baby who came but a month ago ? 

How many pounds from the crowning curl 
To the rosy point of the restless toe?" 

Grandfather ties the 'kerchief knot, 
Tenderly guides the swinging weight, 

And carefully over his glasses peers 
To read the record, "only eight.' ' 

Softly the echo goes around, 

The father laughs at the tiny girl, 

The fair young mother sings the words, 
While grandmother smooths the golden curl. 

And stooping above the precious thing, 

Nestles a kiss within a prayer, 
Murmuring softly, "Little one, 

Grandfather did not weigh you fair." 

Nobody weighed the baby's smile, 

Or the love that came with the helpless one, 

Nobody weighed the threads of care, 
From which a woman 's life is spun. 

No index tells the mighty worth 
Of a little baby's quiet breath — 

A soft unceasing metronome 

Patient and faithful unto death. 



89 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Nobody weighed the baby's soul, 
For here on earth no weight there be 

That could avail, God only knows 
Its value in eternity. 

Only eight pounds to hold a soul 
That seeks no angel's silver wing, 

But shrines it in this human guise, 
Within so frail and small a thing! 

Oh mother, laugh your merry note, 
Be gay and glad, but don't forget 

From baby's eyes looks out a soul, 
That claims a home in Eden yet. 

Ethelinda Elliott Beers. 



When the bright sun doth smiling rise, 
A ruddy ball thro' cloudy skies, 

The wood and field to him do yield 
And flower and leaf forget their grief. 

In childish hearts so springs delight, 
Chasing black care back into night. 

Joys like the flowers, in children rise; 
They smile with tears still in their eyes. 
*Translated from the French by Blanche Wilder Bellamy. 



90 



BONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

SL litttle 315lm& C&tl&'s? Entile 

A child's smile — nothing more; 

Quiet and soft and grave, and seldom seen ; 
Like summer lightning o'er, 

Leaving the little face again serene. 

I think, boy well-beloved, 

Thine angel, who did grieve to see how far 
Thy childhood is removed 

From sports that dear to other children are, 

On this pale cheek has thrown 

The brightness of his countenance, and made 
A beauty like his own — 

That, while we see it, we are half afraid, 

And marvel, will it stay? 

Or, long ere manhood, will that angel fair, 
Departing some sad day, 

Steal the child-smile and leave the shadow care? 

Nay, fear not. As is given 

Unto this child the father watching o'er, 
His angel up in heaven 

Beholds our Father's face forever more. 

And He will help him bear 

His burthen, as his father helps him now; 
So may he come to wear 

That happy child-smile on an old man's brow. 

Dinah Unlock Craih, 

91 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



tfyz ifloumet! 



Only beginning the journey, 

Many a mile to go, 
Little feet, how they patter, 

Wandering to and fro! 

Trying again so bravely, 

Laughing in baby glee, 
Hiding its face in mother's lap, 

Proud as a babe can be! 

Talking the oddest language 

Ever before was heard ! 
But mother (you'd hardly think so) 

Understands every word. 

Tottering now and falling, 

Eyes are going to cry, 
Kisses and plenty of love-words; 

Willing again to try! 

Standing on feet unsteady ; 

Working with all its strength! 
It reaches the mother 's outstretched hands, 

And rests in her arms at length. 

Father of all ! oh, guide them 

The pattering little feet, 
While they are treading the uphill road, 

Braving the dust and heat ! 



92 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Aid them ever when weary, 
Keep them in pathways blest ; 

And when the journey is ended, 
Father, oh give them rest ! 



£fje 315abte 



Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes, 
Nae stockin' on her feet; 

Her supple ankles, white as snaw, 
Or early blossoms sweet. 

Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink, 
Her double, dimplit chin, 

Her puckered lips an' baumy mou', 
Wi' nae ane tooth within; 

Her een sae like her mither's een, 
Twa gentle, liquid things; 

Her face is like an angel's face— 
We're glad she has nae wings. 

She is the buddin' o' our luve, 
A gif tie God has gied us ; 

We maun na luve the gift ower weel, 
'Twad be nae blessing thus. 



l ^ 



We still maun lo 'e the Giver mair, 

An' see Him in the given; 
An' sae she'll lead us up to Him — 

Our babie straight frae Heaven. 

Jeremiah E. Rankin. 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

WW 31$ tyy !Ltttie ®ne Semiring about 

Who can tell what a baby thinks ? 

Who can follow the gossamer links 

By which the manikin feels his way 

Out from the shore of the great unknown 

Blind and wailing and all alone, 

Into the light of day? 
Out from the shore of the unknown sea, 

Tossing in pitiful agony, — 
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, 
Specked with the barks of little souls,— 
Barks that were launched on the other side, 
And shipped from heaven on an ebbing tide ! 
What does he think of his mother 's eyes ? 
What does he think of his mother's hair? 
What of the cradle roof that flies 
Forward and backward through the air? 
What does he think of his mother 's breast, — 
Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, 
Seeking it ever with fresh delight, — 
Cup of his life, and couch of his rest? 
What does he think when her quick embrace 
Presses his hand and buries his face 
Deep where the heart throbs sink and swell 
With a tenderness she never can tell, 

Though she murmurs the words 

Of all the birds- 
Words she has learned to murmur well? 
Now he thinks he'll go to sleep ! 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

I can see the shadows creep 
Over his eyes in soft eclipse, 
Over his brow and over his lips, 
Out to the little finger- tips; 
Softly sinking down he goes! 
Down he goes ! Down he goes ! 
See ! He is hushed in sweet repose ! 

J. G. Holland. 



g>tOf£ Wimt 



Go slower, clock, 

When babies climb 
The mother's lap 

At story time. 

When, waving wands, 

The fairies walk, 
And witches scold, 

And bears can talk, 

And, best of all, 

The mother too 
Is telling what 

She used to do, 

No decent clock 

Would lift its head 
And say 'twas time 

To go to bed. 

Albert Bryant. 

95 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

WMimt 

Three little girls are weary, 

Weary of books and of play; 
Sad is the world and dreary, 

Slowly the time slips away. 
Six little feet are aching, 

Bowed is each little head, 
Yet they are up and shaking, 

When there is mention of bed. 

Bravely they laugh and chatter, 

Just for a minute or two ; 
Then when they end their clatter, 

Sleep comes quickly to woo. 
Slowly their eyes are closing, 

Down again drops ev'ry head, 
Three little maids are dozing, 

Though they're not ready for bed. 

That is their method ever, 

Night after night they protest, 
Claiming they're sleepy never, 

Never in need of their rest ; 
Nodding and almost dreaming, 

Drowsily each little head, 
Still is forever scheming 

Merely to keep out of bed. 



96 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

He has given up his cradle and his little worsted ball, 
He has hidden all his dolls behind the door 5 
He must have a rocking-horse 
And a hard wood top, of course, 
For he isn't mamma's baby any more. 

He has cut off all his curls — they are only fit for girls — 
And has left them in a heap upon the floor; 
For he's six years old to-day, 
And he's glad to hear them say 
That he isn't mamma's baby any more! 

He has pockets in his trousers, like his older brother 

Jim, 
Though he thinks he should have had them long before. 

Has new shoes laced to the top — 

'Tis a puzzle where they stop ; 
And he isn't mamma's baby any more. 

He has heard his parents sigh and has greatly wondered 

why 
They are sorry when he has such bliss in store ; 
For he's now their darling boy 
And will be their pride and joy, 
Though he cannot be their baby any more. 

Georgiana E. Billings. 



97 



SONGS OF MOTHER AXD CHILD 



Z%t Coming £pan 



A pair of very clmbby legs, 
Encased in scarlet hose; 

A pair of little stubby boots, 
With rather doubtful toes ; 

A little kilt, a little coat- 
Cut as a mother can— 

And lo, before us stands in state 
The future's ''coming man." 

His eyes, perchance, will read the stars, 

And search their unknown ways ; 
Perchance the human heart and soul 

Will open to their gaze; 
Perchance their keen and flashing glance 

Will be a nation's light — 
Those eyes that now are wistful bent 

On some "big fellow's" kite. 

Those hands, those little busy hands — 

So sticky, small, and brown; 
Those hands, whose only mission seems 

To pull all order down — 
TTho knows what hidden strength may be 

Within their tiny clasp, 
Though now 'tis but a taffy stick 

In sturdy hold they grasp ? 

Ah, blessings on those little hands, 
"Whose work is yet undone, 

98 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

And blessings on those little feet, 

YsTiose race is yet unrun! 
And blessings on the little brain 

That has not learned to plan ! 
Whate'er the future holds in store, 

God bless the ''coming man." 

She sat on the porch in the sunshine, 

As I went down the street — 
A woman whose hair was silver, 

But whose face was blossom sweet, 
Making me think of a garden 

Where, in spite of the frost and the snow 
Of bleak November weather, 

Late fragrant lilies blow. 

I heard a footstep behind me 

And the sound of a merry laugh, 
And I knew the heart it came from 

Y\ r ould be like a comforting staff 
In the hour and time of trouble, 

Hopeful and brave and strong, 
One of the hearts to lean on 

When we think that things go wrong. 

I turned at the click of the gate latch, 

And met his manly look; 
A face like his gives me pleasure, 

Like the page of a pleasant book. 

99 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

It told of a steadfast purpose, 

Of a brave and daring will — 
A face with a promise in it 

That God grant the years to fulfill. 

He went up the pathway singing; 

I saw the woman's eyes 
Grow bright with a wordless welcome, 

As sunshine warms the skies. 
"Back again, sweet mother," 

He cried, and bent to kiss 
The loving face that was lifted 

For what some mothers miss. 

That boy will do to depend on — 

I hold that this is true — 
For lads in love with their mothers 

Our bravest heroes grew. 
Earth's grandest hearts have been loving 

Since time and earth began! 
And the boy who kissed his mother 

Is every inch a man. 

Eh en E. Rex ford. 



<#ur Parting 



Bounding like a foot-ball, 
Kicking at the door, 

Falling from the table top- 
Sprawling on the floor. 

100 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Smashing cups and saucers, 
Splitting Dolly's head; 

Putting little pussy cat 
Into baby's bed. 

Building shops and houses, 

Spoiling father's hat, 
Hiding mother's precious keys 

Underneath the mat. 
Jumping on the fender, 

Poking at the fire, 
Dancing on his little legs — 

Legs that never tire; 
Making mother's heart leap 

Forty times a day — 
Aping every thing we do, 

Every word we say. 

Shouting, laughing, tumbling, 

Roaring with a will; 
Anywhere and everywhere, 

Never, never still; 
Present— bringing sunshine ; 

Absent— leaving night,— 
That's our precious darling, 

That's our heart's delight. 



101 



polls 



80NGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



Brown eyes, straight nose ; 
Dirt pies, rumpled clothes; 

Torn books, spoilt toys; 
Arch looks, unlike a boy's; 

Little rages, obvious arts ; 
(Three her age is,) cakes, tarts ; 

Falling down on 2 chairs; 
Breaking crown down stairs ; 

Catching flies on the pane ; 
Deep sighs,— cause not plain; 

Bribing you with kisses 
For a few farthing blisses ; 

Wide awake, as you hear, 
"Mercy's sake, quiet, dear!" 

New shoes, new frock; 

Vague views of what's o'clock 

When it's time to go to bed, 

And scorn sublime of what is said; 

Folded hands, saying prayers, 
Understands not, nor cares; 



102 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Thinks it odd, smiles away; 
Yet may God hear her pray ! 

Bedgown white, kiss Dolly; 
Good night !— that's Polly. 

Fast asleep, as you see ; 
Heaven keep my girl for me ! 



W. B. Rands. 



Mtlmt 



Word of a little one born in the West,— 
How like a sea-bird it comes from the sea, 

Out of the league-weary waters' unrest 

Blown with white wings, for a token, to me. 

Blown with a skriel and a flurry of plumes 

(Sea-spray and flight-rapture whirled in a gleam!) 

Here for a sign of the comrade that looms 
Large in the midst of my love as I dream. 

He with the heart of an old violin, 

Vibrant at every least stir in the place, 
Lyric of woods where the thrushes begin, 

Wave-questing wanderer, still for a space, — 

What will the child of his be (so I muse), 
Wood-flower, sea-flower, star-flower rare? 

Worlds here to choose from, and which will she choose, 
She whose first world is an armsweep of air? 

103 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Baby Karlene, you are wondering now 

Why yon can't reach the great moon that you see 
Just at your hand on the edge of the bough 

That waves in the window-pane — how can it be ? 

All your world yet hardly lies out of reach 

Of ten little fingers and ten little toes. 
You are a seed for the sky there to teach 

(And the sun and the wind and the rain) as it grows. 

Just a green leaf piercing up to the day, 
Pale fleck of June to come, just to be seen 

Through the rough crumble of rubble and clay 
Lifting its loveliness, dawn-child, Karlene! 

Fragile as fairycraft, dew-dream of love, — 
Never a clod that has marred the slim stalk, 

Never a stone but its frail fingers move, 
Bent on the blue sky, and nothing can balk ! 

Blue sky and wind-laughters, that is thy dream. 

Ah, the brave days when thy leafage shall toss 
High where gold noon-days as sunsets astream 

Mix with its moving and kiss it across. 

There the great clouds shall go lazily by, 

Cool thee with shadows and dazzle with shine, 

Drench thee with rain-guerdons, bless thee with sky 
Till all the knowledge of earth shall be thine. 



104 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wind from the ice-floe and wind from the palm, 

Wind from the mountains and wind from the lea- 
How they will sing thee of tempest and calm ! 
How they will lure thee with tales of the sea ! 

What will you be in that summer, Karlene ? 

Apple-tree, cherry-tree, lily, or corn? 
Red rose or yellow rose, gray leaf or green? 

Which will you choose now the year's at its morn? 

Somewhere even now in thy heart is the will, — 
"I shall be Golden Rod, slender and tall — 

I shall be Pond Lily, secret" and still — 
I shall be Sweetbriar, Queen of them all — 

"I shall give shade for the weary to rest— 
I shall grow flax for the naked to wear — 

Figs for a feast and all comers to guest — 

Wreaths that girls twine in the laugh of their hair- 

1 ' Ivy for scholars and myrtle for lovers, 
Laurel for conquerors, poets and kings— 

Broad-spreading beech-boughs whose benison covers 
Clamor of bird-notes and flutter of wings — 

"I shall rise tall as an elm in my grace— 

I shall be clothed as cat alp a is clad — 
Poets shall crown me with lyrics of praise — 

Lovers for lure of my blossoms go mad." 



105 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Which shall it be, baby ? Guess you at all ? 

Only I know in the lull of the year 
You have said now where your choosing shall fall, 

Only you have not yet heard yourself, dear. 

So, like a mocking-bird up in the trees, 

I, watching, wondering where you have grown, 

Borrow a note from a birdfellow's glees, 
Fittest to sing you, and make it my own. 

Only I know as I wonder, Karlene, 
Singing up here where you think me a star, 

Heaven 's still above me, and someone serene 
Laughs in the blue sky and knows what you are. 

Richard Hovey. 

A baby's hands like rosebuds furled, 

Whence yet no leaf expands, 
Ope if you touch, tho' close upcurled, — 

A baby's hands, 
Then even as warriors grip their brands 

When battle's bolt is hurled, 
They close clenched hard like tightening bands. 

No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled 

Match even in loveliest lands, 
The sweetest flowers in all the world, — 

A baby's hands. 

Algernon Charles Swinburne. 

106 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

0n tyt picture of a Cl)tU> QHreD of jplap 

Tired of play! Tired of play! 

What hast thou done this livelong day? 

The birds are silent, and so is the beej 

The sun is creeping up steeple and tree; 

The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves, 

And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves; 

Twilight gathers, and day is done, 

How hast thou spent it, restless one? 

Playing? But what has thou done beside 
To tell thy mother, at eventide? 
What promise of morn is left unbroken? 
What kind word to thy playmate spoken? 
Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven? 
How with thy faults has duty striven ? 
What hast thou learned by field and hill, 
By greenwood path, and by singing rill? 

There will come an eve and a longer day 
That will find thee tired — but not of play! 
And thou wilt lean, as thou leanest now, 
With drooping limbs and aching brow, 
And wish the shadows would faster creep, 
And long to go to thy quiet sleep. 
Well were it then if thy aching brow 
Were as free from sin and shame as now. 

Well for thee if thy lip could tell 
A tale like this of a day spent well. 



107 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

If thine open hand hath relieved distress, 
If thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness, 
If thou hast forgiven the sore offense, 
And humbled thy heart with penitence — 
If Nature's voices have spoken to thee, 
With her holy meanings, eloquently — 

If every creature hath won thy love, 

From the creeping worm to the brooding dove; 

If never a sad, low-spoken word 

Hath plead with thy human heart unheard — 

Then, when the night steals on, as now, 

It will bring relief to thy aching brow, 

And with joy and peace at the thought of rest, 

Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast. 

Nathaniel P. Willis. 



3 Cf)tto'0 iLaug&ter 

Is there, when the winds are singing, 

In the happy summer time, 
When the raptured ear is ringing 
With earth's music heavenward springing, 

Forest chirp and village chime, 
Is there, of the sounds that float, 
Unsighingly, a single note 

Half so sweet and clear and wild 

As the laughter of a child ? 

Samuel Hinds. 



108 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



®ttlg a H5ab£ Entail 



Only a baby small, 

Dropt from the skies ; 
Only a laughing face, 

Two sunny eyes; 
Only two cherry lips, 

One chubby nose; 
Only two little hands — 

Ten little toes. 

Only a golden head, 

Curly and soft; 
Only a tongue that wags 

Loudly and oft; 
Only a little brain, 

Empty of thought; 
Only a little heart 

Troubled with nought. 

Only a tender flower, 

Sent us to rear ; 
Only a life to love, 

While we are here; 
Only a baby small, 

Never at rest; 
Small, but how dear to us, 

God knoweth best. 

M. Barr. 



109 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

# portrait 

I will paint her as I see her. 
Ten times have the lilies blown 
Since she looked upon the sun. 

And her face is lily-clear, 
Lily-shaped and dropped in duty 
To the law of its own beauty. 

Oval cheeks, encolored faintly, 
Which a trail of golden hair 
Keeps from fading off to air; 

And a forehead fair and saintly, 
Which two blue eyes undershine, 
Like meek prayers before a shrine. 

Face and figure of a child, 

Though too calm, you think, and tender 

For the childhood you would lend her. 

And her smile, it seems half holy, 
As if drawn from thoughts more far 
Than our common jestings are. 

And, if any poet knew her, 

He would sing of her with falls 

Used in lovely madrigals. 

And, if any painter drew her, 
He would paint her unaware 
With a halo round her hair. 

110 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

And, if reader read the poem, 

He would whisper, "You have done a 

Consecrated little Una." 

And a dreamer, did you show him 
That same picture, would exclaim : 
" 'Tis my angel, with a name." 

And a stranger, when he sees her, 
In the street even, smileth stilly, 
Just as you would at a lily. 

And all voices that address her 
Soften, sleeken every word, 
As if speaking to a bird. 

And all fancies yearn to cover 
The hard earth whereon she passes 
With the thymy-scented grasses. 

And all hearts do pray, "God love her." 
Ay, and always, in good sooth, 
We may all be sure He doth. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



315abp $as 

Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; 
Lips whose velvet scarlet teaches 
Poppies paleness; round large eyes, 
Ever great with new surprise; 

1U 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Minutes filled with shadeless gladness, 
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness; 
Happy smiles and wailing cries, 
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes; 
Lights and shadows, swifter born 
Than on windswept autumn corn; 
Ever some new tiny notion 
Making every limb all motion ; 
Catchings up of legs and arms, 
Throwings back and small alarms; 
Clutching fingers — straightening jerks, 
Twining feet, whose each toe works; 
Kickings up and straining risings, 
Mother's ever new surp risings; 
Hands all want and looks all wonder 
At all things the heavens under; 
Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings 
That have more of love than lovings; 
Mischiefs done with such a winning 
Archness, that we prize such sinning; 
Breakings dire of plates and glasses, 
Graspings small at all that passes; 
Pullings off of all that's able 
To be caught from tray or table; 
Silences— small meditations 
Deep as thoughts of cares for nations — 
Breaking into wisest speeches 
In a tongue that nothing teaches, 
All the thoughts of whose possessing 
Must be woo'd to light by guessing; 

112 



BONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Slumbers— such sweet angel seemings, 
That we'd ever have such dreamings, 
Till from sleep we see thee breaking, 
And we 'd always have thee waking ; 
Wealth for which we know no measure; 
Pleasure high above all pleasure; 
Gladness brimming over gladness; 
Joy in care— delight in sadness; 
Loveliness beyond completeness; 
Sweetness distancing all sweetness; 
Beauty all that beauty may be: 
That's May Bennett — that's my baby. 

W. C. Bennett. 



a Btmcij of ftoaea 



The rosy mouth and rosy toe 

Of little baby brother, 
Until about a month ago 

Had never met each other; 
But nowadays the neighbors sweet, 

In every sort of weather, 
Half way with rosy fingers meet, 

To kiss and play together. 

John B. Tall. 



113 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



W$t spotljer'a Return 



A month, sweet little ones, is past, 
Since your dear mother went away,— 

And she to-morrow will return; 
To-morrow is the happy day. 

blessed tidings, thought of joy! 
The eldest heard with steady glee; 

Silent he stood; then laughed amain,— 
And shouted, "Mother, come to me!" 

Louder and louder did he shout, 
With witless hope to bring her near; 

"Nay, patience, patience, little boy; 
Your tender mother cannot hear. ' ' 

1 told of hills and far-off towns, 

And long, long vales to travel through. 
He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed, 
But he submits ; what can he do ? 

No strife disturbs his sister's breast; 

She wars not with the mystery 
Of time and distance, night and day,— 

The bonds of our humanity. 

Her joy is like an instinct,— joy 
Of kitten, bird or summer fly; 

She dances, runs without an aim, 
She chatters in her ecstasy. 



114 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Her brother now takes up the note, 
And echoes back his sister 's glee ; 

They hug the infant in my arms, 
As if to force his sympathy. 

Then, settling into fond discourse, 
"We rested in the garden bower; 

While sweetly shone the evening sun 
In his departing hour. 

We told o'er all that we had done,— 
Our rambles by the swift brook's side, 

Far as the willow-skirted pool, 
Where two fair swans together glide. 

We talked of change, of winter gone, 
Of green leaves on the hawthorn spray, 

Of birds that build their nests and sing, 
And all " since Mother went away." 

To her these tales they will repeat, 
To her our new-born tribes will show 

The goslings green, the ass's colt, 
The lambs that in the meadow go. 

But see, the evening star comes forth; 

To bed the children must depart ; 
A moment's heaviness they feel, 

A sadness at the heart:— 



115 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Tis gone, and in a merry fit 

They run upstairs in gamesome race; 
I, too, infected by their mood, 
I could have joined the wanton chase. 

Five minutes past— and, the change; 

Asleep upon their beds they lie; 
Their busy limbs in perfect rest, 

And closed the sparkling eye. 

Dorothy Wordsworth. 



Mttlt HBlue Kibbon* 

"Little Blue Ribbons/ ' we call her that, 
From the ribbons she wears in her favorite hat. 
For may not a person be only five 
And yet have the neatest taste alive? 
As a matter of fact this one has views 
Of the strictest sort as to frocks and shoes — 
And we never object to a sash or a bow 
When Little Blue Ribbons prefers it so. 

Little Blue Ribbons has eyes of blue, 

And an arch little mouth, when the teeth peep through, 

And her primitive look is wise and grave, 

With a sense of the weight of the word "behave. 

Though now and again she may condescend 

To a radiant smile for a private friend ; 

But to smile forever is weak, you know, 

And Little Blue Ribbons regards it so. 

116 



?> 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

She's a staid little woman; and so, as well, 

Is her ladyship's doll, Miss Bonnibell; 

But I think what at present the most takes up 

The thoughts of her heart is her last new cup, 

For the object thereon, be it understood, 

Is the Robin that buried the Babes in the Wood. 

It is not the least like a robin, though, 

But Little Blue Ribbons declares it so. 

Little Blue Ribbons believes, I think, 

That the rain comes down for the birds to drink; 

Moreover, she holds, in a cab you'd get 

To the spot where the suns of yesterday set; 

And I know she fully expects to meet 

With a lion or wolf in Regent Street. 

We may smile or deny as we like, but no— 

For Little Blue Ribbons still dreams it so. 

Dear Little Blue Ribbons ! She tells us all 

That she never intends to be " great' ' or "tall"; 

(For how could she ever contrive to sit 

In her own, own chair, if she grew one bit?) 

And further, she says she intends to stay 

In her "darling home" till she gets quite gray. 

Alas, we are gray, and we doubt, you know — 

But Little Blue Ribbons will have it so. 

Austin Dobson. 



117 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

$um's £>ong 

"When the voices of children are heard on the 
green 

And laughing is heard on the hill, 
My heart is at rest within my breast, 

And everything else is still. 

1 ' Then come home, my children, the sun is gone 
down, 

And the dews of night arise; 
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away 

'Till the morning appears in the skies.' ' 

1 ' No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, 

And we cannot go to sleep ; 
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly, 

And the hills are all covered with sheep.' ' 

"Well, well, go and play 'till the light fades 
away, 
And then come home to bed. ' ' 
The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed, 
And all the hills echoed. 

William Blake. 

Babe's; jFm 

A baby's feet, like sea-shells pink, 

Might tempt — should heaven see meet— 
An angel's lips to kiss, we think, 
A baby's feet. 

118 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Like rose-hued sea flowers, toward the heat 

They stretch and spread and wink 
Their ten soft buds that part and meet. 

No flower bells that expand and shrink 

Gleam half so heavenly sweet 
As shine on life's untrodden brink,— 
A baby's feet. 

Algernon Charles Swinburne. 

!Utts's <Slobe 

When Letty had scarce pass'd her third glad year, 
And her young, artless words began to flow, 
One day we gave the child a colour 'd sphere 
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know, 
By tint and outline, all its seas and land. 
She patted all the world; old empires peep'd 
Between her baby fingers; her soft hand 
Was welcome at all frontiers. How she leap 'd, 
And laugh 'd, and prattled, in her world-wide bliss; 
But when we turn'd her sweet, unlearn 'd eye 
On our own isle, she raised a joyous cry, 
''Oh, yes, I see it,— Letty 's home is there." 
And, while she hid all England with a kiss, 
Bright over Europe fell her golden hair. 

Charles Tennyson-Turner. 



119 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



3 CtiilD 0slcep 



Softly, softly, make no noise, 

Now he lieth dead and dumb ; 
Now he hears the angels' voices 

Folding silence in the room : 
Now he muses deep the meaning 

Of the Heaven-words as they come. 

Speak not, he is consecrated; 

Breathe no breath across his eyes j 
Lifted up and separated 

On the hand of God he lies. 
In a sweetness beyond touching, 

Held in cloistral sanctities. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



t&o a CfjilD 

child! new-born denizen 

Of life's great city! On thy head 

The glory of the morn is shed, 

Like a celestial benison ! 

Here at the portal thou dost stand, 

And with thy little hand 

Thou openest the mysterious gate 

Into the future's undiscovered land. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



120 



VI 

piinifStvy 



®fje JUttle people 

A dreary place would be this earth, 
Were there no little people in it; 

The song of life would lose its mirth, 
Were there no children to begin it. 

No little forms like buds to grow, 
And make the admiring hearts surrender j 

No little hands on breast and brow, 

To keep the thrilling love-chords tender. 

The sterner souls would grow more stern, 
Unfeeling nature more inhuman, 

And man to stoic coldness turn, 
And woman would be less than woman. 

Life's song indeed would lose its charm, 
Were there no babies to begin it ; 

A doleful place this world would be, 
Were there no little people in it. 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



123 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Preachers have preached me sermons, — 
I have slept the sermons through. 

All my relations have lectured, 
My friends have lectured too. 

My foes have given me warnings 

And I have taken them not ; 
Friends and foes and relations 

I never heeded a jot. 

Their words were the essence of wisdom, 
There was nothing they didn't foresee, 

And not one atom of all they said 
Has ever remained with me. 

They were staid and pallid and solemn, 
They were gray and wrinkled and old. 

My teacher has cheeks of roses 
And hair of the sun 's own gold. 

His words run into each other, 

He stammers and babbles and cries. 

He doesn't know he is powerful, 
He never dreams he is wise. 

But in three short years he has taught me 
More than those graybeards staid 

Had taught in the seven and thirty 
Before he came to their aid. 

Herbert E. Clark. 
124 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

W$t Cfjito 

It was only the clinging touch 

Of a child's hand in the street, 

But it made the whole day sweet; 

Caught, as he ran full-speed, 

In my own, stretched out to his need, 

Caught, and saved from the fall, 

As I held, for the moment 's poise, 

In my circling arms the whole boy's 

Delicate slightness, warmed mould; 

Mine, for an instant mine, 

The sweetest thing the heart can divine, 

More precious than fame or gold, 

The crown of many joys, 

Lay in my breast ; all mine. 

I was nothing to him; 

He neither looked up nor spoke ; 

I never saw his eyes ; 

He was gone ere my mind awoke 

From the action's quick surprise, 

With vision blurred and dim. 

You say I ask too much: 

It was only the clinging touch 

Of a child in a city street ; 

It hath made the whole day sweet. 

George E. Woodberry. 



125 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

a gtelfe Witl) a Cfctto 

Come, little one!— 
My feverish spirit is a thirst— athirst !— 

Come, lead me to that peaceful stream divine, 
Whose music-making, crystal waters run 

Unshadowed still, for thee : 
Whose silver lappings lave the banks that be 

Still happy in the sun. 
Let thy child's heart be pilot unto mine; 
Let me clasp close this fair, soft palm of thine, 
Which never yet the greed of gold hath cursed, 

And let me look through thy untroubled eyes, 
For they are innocently wise, 
And filled with light from lost, diviner skies 
That shine no more on me. 

Lead, where thy feet shall choose, 
For well content am I to follow thee : 

These little shoes 
Like sandals seem — which God hath buckled on — 
They cannot err— which way thy steps be drawn 
Must be God's way. There, must the fields be fair. 

Lead on — lead anywhere. 
It matters not if Summer's cheer be gone, 
Even though the grass be crisp, and hills be bare, 
And Spring not yet returned;— we shall find there 
The flowers, unblighted yet, and blithe to see, 
And twining close with thine my soul may share 
The blessed visions which the angels keep 
For childish eyes, and hearts untouched of care. 
Dear lands, that vanish when we learn to weep, 

126 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

And come no more, save in the dreams of sleep. 

Too much the world doth teach ; 
Too much,— I am weary of it all:— 
The wise, side-glancing, — the stupendous folly, 

The filed and fitted speech:— 
Come, dearest, it hath made me melancholy ; 

There is a vile distress 
In this click-clacking of a gristless mill, 
Whose noise proclaimeth its own emptiness; 
This cactus-blooming of a barren hill; 

Far better mayst thou preach ; 
These arms of thine, so weak they are, so small, 
Yet all there is of wisdom they can reach; 
These dimpled hands keep in their easy clasp 
What all the chains of earth cannot hold fast, 
For happiness slips from the strongest grasp, 
And, with swift feet, outruns the flying blast. 

Come, I will cast this cloak of care aside, 
And break the world 's false armor from my breast : 

His kingdom, from thine eyes, God doth not hide. 
Come, we together will go forth to rest, 
Somewhere— secure — wrapped in the sacred dream 

Which, haply, waiteth still, 
Close nestled in the hollow of yon hill, 
Amidst the drifting leaves. There shall the wild 
And inarticulate whisperings once more 
Speak with unlying tongues. Once more the stream 
Shall sing of beauty which remaineth ever : 
No more shall bitter tears for lost endeavor 



127 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Be known to us. All things that should have been, 
Shall vex us not. Thy steps shall go before 
Towards God's kingdom. On the hidden door 
Thy hand shall knock, and we shall enter in. 

Robert Burns Wilson. 



tty Cliil&ren'a £riumpl) 

The sunbeams came to my window 
And said, "Come out and see 

The sparkles on the river, 

The blossom on the tree ! ' ' 
But never a moment parleyed I 

With the bright-haired Sunbeams ' call ! 
Though their dazzling hands on the leaf they laid, 
I drew it away to the curtain shade 

Where a sunbeam could not fall. 

The robins came to my window, 
And said, "Come out and sing! 

Come out and join the chorus, 

Of the festival of spring!" 
But never a carol would I trill 

In the festival of May, 
But I sat alone in my shadowy room 
And worked away in its quiet gloom, 

And the robins flew away. 

The children came to my window, 
And said, "Come out and play! 

128 



SON OS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Come out with us in the sunshine, 

'Tis such a glorious day!" 
Then never another word I wrote, 

And my desk was put away ! 
When the children called me, what could I do? 
The robins might fail, and the sunbeams too, 

But the children won the day. 

Frances Ridley Havergal. 

€mpty £>toriung$ 

O mothers in homes that are happy, 

Where Christmas comes laden with cheer, 

Where the children are dreaming already 
Of the merriest day in the year, 

As you gather your darlings around you 
And tell them the ''story of old," 

Remember the homes that are dreary! 
Remember the hearts that are cold ! 

And thanking the love that has dowered you 

With all that is dearest and best, 
Give freely, that from your abundance, 

Some bare little life may be blest ! 

Oh, go where the stockings hang empty, 
Where Christmas is naught but a name, 

And give — for the love of the Christ-child ! 
'Twas to seek such as these that He came. 

Ellen Manly. 

129 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



Cinlomt 



Come to me, ye children, 

For I hear you at your play, 
And the questions that perplexed me 

Have vanished quite away. 

Ye open the eastern windows, 

That look towards the sun, 
iWhere thoughts are singing swallows 

And the brooks of morning run. 

In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, 
In your thoughts the brooklets flow, 

But in mine is the wind of Autumn, 
And the first fall of the snow. 

Ah, what would the world be to us, 

If the children were no more ? 
We should dread the desert behind us 

Worse than the dark before. 

What the leaves are to the forest, 

With light and air for food, 
Ere their sweet and tender juices 

Have been hardened into wood — 

That to the world are children; 

Through them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

Than reaches the trunks below. 



130 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Come to me, ye children, 

And whisper in my ear 
What the birds and winds are singing 

In your sunny atmosphere. 

For what are all our contrivings 

And the wisdom of our books, 
When compared with your caresses 

And the gladness of your looks ? 

Ye are better than all the ballads 

That ever were sung or said ; 
For ye are the living poems, 

And all the rest are dead. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



Still linger in our noon of time 

And on our Saxon tongue 
The echoes of the home-born hymns, 

The Aryan mothers sung. 

And childhood had its litanies, 

In every age and clime ; 
The earliest cradles of the race 

Were rocked to poet's rhyme. 

Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, 
Nor green earth's virgin sod 

131 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

So moved the singer's heart of old 
As these small ones of God. 

The mystery of unfolding life, 
Was more than dawning morn, 

Than opening flower or crescent moon 
The human soul new-born ! 

And still to childhood's sweet appeal 

The heart of genius turns, 
And more than all the sages teach 

From lisping voices learns— 

The voices loved of him who sang 
Where Tweed and Teviot glide, 

That sound today on all the winds 
That blow from Rydal side,— 

Heard in the Teuton's household songs, 

And folklore of the Finn, 
Where-e'er to holy Christmas hearths 

The Christ-child enters in ! 

Before life's sweetest mystery still 
The heart in reverence kneels; 

The wonder of the primal birth 
The latest mother feels. 

We need love's tender lessons taught 
As only weakness can ; 



132 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

God hath his small interpreters ; 
The child must teach the man. 

We wander wide through evil years, 

Our eyes of faith grow dim ; 
But he is freshest from His hands, 

And nearest unto Him ! 

And haply, pleading long with Him 

For sin-sick hearts and cold, 
The angels of our childhood still 

The Father's face behold. 

Of such the kingdom! — Teach thou us, 

Master most divine, 
To feel the deep significance 

Of these wise words of thine ! 

The haughty eye shall seek in vain 

What innocence beholds ; 
No cunning finds the key of heaven, 

No strength its gate unfolds. 

Alone to guilelessness and love 

That gate shall open fall ; 
The mind of pride is nothingness, 

The childlike heart is all! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



133 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

tyomt W^ty Brought tytx Warrior 2E>ea& 

Home they brought her warrior dead, 
She nor swooned nor uttered cry ; 

All her maidens, watching, said, 
"She must weep or she will die." 

Then they praised him, soft and low, 

Called him worthy to be loved, 
Truest friend and noblest foe; 

Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 

Stole a maiden from her place, 

Lightly to the warrior stept, 
Took the face-cloth from the face ; 

Yet she neither moved notuwept. 

Rose a nurse of ninety years, 

Set his child upon her knee ; 
Like summer tempest came her tears— 

"Sweet my child, I live for thee." 

Alfred Tennyson. 



m 



VII 



$&V flittle Bop 

I see him rocking on his wooden charger, 

I hear him pattering through the house all day, 
I watch his great blue eyes grow larger and larger 
Listening to stories whether grave or gay, 
Told at the bright fireside, 
So dark now, since he died. 

But yet I often think my boy is living, 

As living as my other children are, 
When good-night kisses all around I 'm giving, 
I keep one for him, though he is so far. 
Can a mere grave divide 
Me from him — though he died ? 

So, while I come and plant it o'er with daisies 

(Nothing but childish daisies all year round), 
Continually God's hand the curtain raises, 
And I can hear the merry voice's sound, 
And feel him at my side, 
My little boy that died. 

Dinah MulocJc CraiTc. 

137 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Wt 3re &ebm 



•A simple Child, 



That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 
"What should it know of death? 

I met a little cottage Girl : 

She was eight years old, she said ; 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 

That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodland air, 

And she was wildly clad: 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair; 

Her beauty made me glad. 

' 1 Sisters and brothers, little Maid, 

How many may you be ? " 
"How many? Seven in all," she said, 

And wondering looked at me. 

"And where are they? I pray you tell. 

She answered, "Seven are we; 
And two of us at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea. 

"Two of us in the churchyard lie, 

My sister and my brother ; 
And in the church-yard cottage I 

Dwell near them with my mother. ' ' 



138 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

"You say the two at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea, 
And ye are seven : — I pray you tell, 

Sweet Maid, how this may be. ' ' 

Then did the little Maid reply, 

' ' Seven boys and girls are we ; 
Two of us in the church-yard lie, 

Beneath the church-yard tree." 

"You run about, my little Maid, 

Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the church-yard laid, 

Then ye are only five." 

' ' Their graves are green, they may be seen, ' ' 

The little Maid replied, 
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, 

And they are side by side. 

"My stockings there I often knit, 

My 'kerchief there I hem; 
And there upon the ground I sit, 

And sing a song to them. 

"And often after sunset, sir, 

When it is light and fair, 
I take my little porringer, 

And eat my supper there. 



139 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

' ' The first that died was sister Jane ; 

In bed she moaning lay, 
Till God released her of her pain ; 

And then she went away. 

" So in the church-yard she was laid ; 

And, when the grass was dry, 
Together ronnd her grave we played, 

My brother John and I. 

"And when the ground was white with snow, 

And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side," 

1 ' How many are you, then ? ' ' said I, 

* ' If they two are in heaven % ' ' 
Quick was the little Maid's reply, 

"0 Master, we are seven." 

' ' But they are dead j those two are dead ; 

Their spirits are in heaven." 
'Twas throwing words away; for still 
The little Maid would have her will, 

And said, "Nay, we are seven." 

William Wordsworth. 



When the baby died, 
On every side 
White lilies and blue violets were strown; 

140 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Unreasoning, the mother's heart made moan; 
"Who counted all these flowers which have grown 

Unhindered in their bloom? 

"Was there not room, 
Earthy and God, couldst thou not care 
For mine a little longer? Fare 
Thy way, Earth; all life, all death 
vFor me ceased with my baby 's breath ; 
All heaven I forget or doubt ; 

Within, without, 
Is idle chance, more pitiless than law. ' ' 
And that was all the mother saw. 

When the baby died, 

On every side 
Swift angels came in shining, singing bands, 
And bore the little one with gentle hands 
Into the sunshine of the spirit lands. 

And Christ, the Shepherd, said, 

"Let them be led 
In gardens nearest to the earth ; 
One mother weepeth over birth, 
Another weepeth over death; 
In vain all heaven answereth. 
Laughs from the little ones may reach 

Their ears and teach 
Them what, so blind with tears, they never saw,— 
That of all life, all death, God's love is law." 

Helen Hunt Jackson. 

(Copyright, 1873, by Roberts Brothers.) 
141 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

W$t fteaper ana clje iFlofoer* 

There is a Reaper whose name is Death, 

And with his sickle keen 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 

And the flowers that grow between. 

" Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he, 
"Have naught but the bearded grain? 

Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me 
I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 

He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
It was for the Lord of Paradise 

He bound them in his sheaves. 

"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," 

The Reaper said, and smiled; 
"Dear tokens of the earth are they, 

Where he was once a child. 

"They shall all bloom in fields of light, 

Transplanted by my care, 
And saints upon their garments white 

These sacred blossoms wear." 

And the mother gave in tears and pain 

The flowers she most did love ; 
She knew she should find them all again 

In the fields of light above. 



142 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 

The Reaper came that day; 
'Twas an angel visited the green earth, 

And took the flowers away. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



Wt Wntttyb fytt UBreatijmg 

We watched her breathing through the night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak, 

So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad, 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 

Another morn than ours. 

Thomas Hood. 



143 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

®fje spotter's 3|etoete 

In schools of wisdom all the day was spent ; 

His steps at eve the rabbi homeward bent, 

With homeward thoughts which dwelt npon his wife 

And two fair children who adorned his life. 

She, meeting at the threshold, led him in, 

And, with these words preventing, did begin : 

"Ever rejoicing at your wished return, 

Yet do I most so now, for since the morn 

I have been much perplexed and sorely tried 

Upon one point which you shall now decide. 

' ' Some years ago, a friend into my care 

Some jewels gave, rich, precious gems they were, 

And, having placed them in my charge, this friend 

Did after neither come for them nor send ; 

But left them in my keeping for so long 

That now it almost seems to me a wrong 

That he should suddenly arrive today 

And take the jewels that he left away. 

What think you, shall I freely yield them back 

And with no murmuring,— so henceforth to lack 

Those gems myself which I had learned to see 

Almost as mine forever,— mine in fee?" 

"What question can be here? Your own true heart 
Must needs advise you of the only part; 
That may be claimed again which was but lent 
And should be yielded with no discontent, 



144 



80NG8 OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Nor, surely, can we find herein a wrong, 
That it was left us to enjoy so long." 

"Good is the word," she answered, "may we now 

And evermore that it is good allow. ' ' 

And, rising, to an inner chamber led ; 

And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed 

Two children pale ; and he the jewels knew 

Which God had lent him and resumed anew. 

Archbishop Trench. 

$&V Bad fLtttle 115ob 

Did you ever see him, my bad little boy, 

Down on the sands by the sea? 
That is his picture, my boy's own self, 

With his big eyes smiling at me ! 
With his hands in his pockets, his hat awry, 

And his face all covered with tan; 
Oh, he was a bad little boy, my boy, 

Who never will be a man ! 

He kept me busy from morn till night ; 

I lived in a Babel of noise ! 
He would romp and play in the roughest way, 

After the fashion of boys. 
He spilled my ink and he broke my pen, 

I had never a chance to write, 
Till the mystical music of winds and waves, 

Had lulled him to sleep at night. 

145 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

But once in a while he would come and lay 

His curly head on my knee, 
And watch the Sun King going down 

To his kingdom under the sea, 
And talk in his odd little way of things 

Too deep for my duller ken, 
After the fashion of some little boys, 

Boys who will never be men. 

Alas, and alas, for my bad little boy ! 

It happened one summer day 
That the light went out of the tired eyes 

And the little feet lagged on the way. 
And just as the sun was going down 

To his kingdom under the sea, 
The angels came for my bad little boy, 

And took him away from me. 

There is quiet now when I want to write, 

There is never a toy on the floor, 
Nobody teases the cross old cat, 

Nobody pounds on the door. 
Nobody loses or breaks my pens, 

Nobody spills my ink, 
I have plenty of time to read and work, 

I have too much time to think. 

And I think as I sit here alone tonight 

In the shadowy silence and gloom, 
I would give the wealth of the world to see 



146 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

My bad little boy in the room. 
To bear tbe rollicking ring of bis laugh, 

To see bim among bis toys, 
Or playing at leap frog over tbe cbairs 

After tbe fashion of boys. 

I would give the world — for I miss him so — 

To have him with me again ! 
My boy who has entered the silent ranks 

Of the boys who will never be men. 
And I think if an angel looked down to see, 

His song would lose some of its joy, 
For all that was dearest in life to me, 

Is gone with my bad little boy. 



Wt>t Sleeping HBabe 

The baby wept ; 
The mother took it from the nurse's arms, 
And soothed its griefs and stilled its vain alarms, 

And baby slept. 

Again it weeps, 
And God doth take it from the mother's arms, 
From present pains and future unknown harms, 

And baby sleeps. 

Samuel Hinds, 



147 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

#OD'0 JLittle &itl 

She left her home in the starry ways 
And reached our arms in April days ; 
"We thought to hold her and keep her here 
And our little girl we called the dear. 

One pleasant eve when the sun had dipped 
Out of our sight, and the stars had slipped 
Silently back to their wonted ways, 
She turned her face with a wistful gaze 

Up to the blue of the arching skies ; 
We knew by the look in her pretty eyes 
And the smile that brightened her small face so, 
It was time for God's little girl to go. 

A kiss we dropped on her curly head, 
"Sweet little heart, good-by," we said, 
Then unafraid, though the way was dim, 
God's little girl went back to him. 

Bertha Gemeaux Woods. 



148 



VIII 



# Cfcila of tEo&ap 

O child, had I thy lease of time ! such unimagined things 
Are waiting for that soul of thine to spread its untried 



wmgs 



Shalt thou not speak the stars, and go on journeys 

through the sky? 
And read the soul of man as clear as now we read 

the eye ? 

Who knows if science may not find some art to make thee 

new, — 
To mend the garments of thy flesh when thou hast worn 

them through? 

'Tis fearful, aye, and beautiful, thy future that may be. 
How strange! Perhaps death's conqueror sits smiling on 
my knee. 

James Buckham. 



151 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Hittlt 315rofctm l£an&$ 

They drive home the cows from the pasture, 

Up thro' the long shady lane, 
"Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat fields 

That are yellow with ripening grain. 
They find, in the thick waving grasses, 

Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows, 
They gather the earliest snowdrops, 

And the first crimson buds of the rose. 

They toss the new hay in the meadow, 

They gather the elder-bloom white ; 
They find where the dusky grapes purple 

In the soft-tinted October light. 
They know where the apples hang ripest, 

And are sweeter than Italy's wines; 
They know where the fruit hangs the thickest 

On the long thorny blackberry vines. 

They gather the delicate sea-weeds, 

And build tiny castles of sand ; 
They pick up the beautiful sea-shells— 

Fairy barks that have drifted to land. 
They wave from the tall rocking tree-tops 

Where the oriole's hammock-nest swings; 
And at night-time are folded in slumber 

By a song that a fond mother sings. 



152 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Those who toil bravely are strongest ; 

The humble and poor become great ; 
And so from these brown-handed children 

Shall grow mighty rulers of state. 
The pen of the author and statesman, 

The noble and wise of the land, 
The sword and the chisel and palette 

Shall be held in the little brown hand. 

M. E. Krout. 

November winds, blow mild 

On this new born child. 

Spirit of the autumn wood, 

Make her gentle, make her good. 

Still attend her 

And befriend her, 

Pill her days with warmth and color, 

Keep her safe from winter's dolor. 

On thy bosom 

Hide this blossom, 

Safe from summer's rain and thunder. 

When these eyes of light and wonder 

Tire at last of earthly places — 

Full of years and full of graces — 

Then, then, 

Take her back to heaven again. 

Richard Watson Gilder. 



153 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

# Gentleman 

I knew him for a gentleman 

By signs that never fail ; 
His coat was rough and rather worn, 

His cheeks were thin and pale — 
A lad who had his way to make, 

With little time for play ; 
I knew him for a gentleman 

By certain signs today. 

He met his mother on the street ; 

Off came his little cap. 
My door was shut ; he waited there 

Until I heard his rap. 
He took the bundle from my hand, 

And when I dropped my pen, 
He sprang to pick it up for me— 

This gentleman of ten. 

He does not push and crowd along; 

His voice is gently pitched ; 
He does not fling his boots about 

As if he were bewitched; 
He stands aside to let you pass ; 

He always shuts the door ; 
He runs on errands willingly 

To forge and mill and store. 

He thinks of you before himself, 
He serves you if he can; 



154 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

For in whatever company, 

The manners make the man. 
At ten or forty, 'tis the same ; 

The manners tell the tale, 
And I discern the gentleman 

By signs that never fail. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 

Ci)itornt 

THE GIRL-CHILD 

Give her a flower to keep and hold, 

A waxen doll in a silken gown, 
A chain of coral with clasp of gold, 

A tiny kitten as soft as down; 
And sing with your lips against her cheek, 

Love's dear lullaby whispering, 
Till sleep comes over her eyelids meek, 

Sing for the girl-child— mother, sing! 

THE BOY-CHILD 

Show him the bird in its daring flight 

To the cloud's brown edge. Teach him to know 
The flag that spreads to wind's wild night — 

Sweep of the rain, and whirl of snow — 
Laugh with him, run with him, romp and leap. 

Give him his will of the noisy day — 
But, when you pause at the gate of sleep, 

Oh, pray for the boy-child— mother, pray ! 

Madeline Bridges, 

155 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Zty €mpty $e$t 

A liome in a quiet country place 
Under the shadow of branches wide ; 

And a fair young mother with thoughtful face, 
Sewing a seam by the window side. 

The sunshine stretches across the floor, 
And bright motes dance in its golden way: 

And in and out at the open door 
The children run in their busy play. 

Guiding her needle with careless skill, 
Her fingers fashion the garment white ; 

But weaving a fabric daintier still, 

Her swift thoughts follow the needle's flight. 

Her heart lies hushed in her deep content, 
Her lips are humming an old love lay; 

And still with its, music softly blent, 
She hears what the eager children say : 

* ' We found it under the apple tree, — 
A poor little empty yellowbird's nest; 

See, it is round as a cup could be, 
And lined with down from the mother's breast. 

* ' This is a leaf all withered and dry, 

That once was a canopy overhead ; 
Doesn't it almost make you cry 

To look at the dear little empty bed ? 



156 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

"All the birdies have flown away; 

But birds must fly or they wouldn't have wings; 
And the mother bird knew they would go some day, 

When she used to cuddle the downy things. 

* l Do you think she is lonesome ? Why there 's a tear, 
And here is another — that makes two ! 

Why do you hug us and look so queer ? 
If we were birdies, we wouldn't leave you." 

Deep in the mother's listening heart 
Drops the prattle with sudden sting; 

For lips may quiver and tears may start, 
But birds must fly or they wouldn't have wings. 
Emily Huntington Miller. 



~Unt$ to a Cfctla 

Dear little face, 
With placid brow and clear, up-looking eyes, 
And prattling lips that speak no evil thing ; 

And dimpling smiles, free of fair-seeming lies, 
Unschooled to ape the dreary world's pretence; 
Sweet imager of cloudless innocence, 
The tenderest flower of nature's fashioning:— 

A dewy rose amidst the wilderness, 
Amidst the desert a clear-welling spring, 
So is thy undissembling loveliness, 
Dear little face. 



157 



SONG 8 OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Dear little hand! 
How sweet it is to feel against my own 
The touch of this soft palm which never yet 

The taint of soul-destroying gold hath known : 
There Nature's seal of trustfulness is pressed 
Even as her loving touch the lily blessed 
"With stainless purity— even as she set 

The golden flame upon the daffodil, 
And heaven's clear blue upon the violet. 

May her best gifts be for thy clasping still, 
Dear little hand. 

Dear little heart, 
That never harbored any ill intent, 
That nothing knows of bitterness or care, 

But only young life's nestling wonderment 
Amidst thy strange, new joys— thy incomplete 
Unfledged emotions and affections sweet. 
Veiled, by the unlived years, thy field, but there 

The sowing for thy harvest hath begun : 
When thou shalt reap and bind, may no despair 

Rise from that ground betwixt thee and the sun, 
Dear little heart. 

Robert Burns Wilson. 



<3oin% to BNrfc 

Come along, for the work is ready — 

Rough it may be, rough, tough and hard ; 
But fourteen years old, stout, strong and steady,— 

158 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Life's game beginning, lad; play your card; — 
Come along! 

Mother stands at the door-step crying; 
Well, but she has a brave heart, too ; 

She'll try to be glad — there's nought like trying- 
She 's proud of having a son like you. 
Come along! 

Young as she is her hair is whitening, 

She has ploughed through years of sorrow deep. 

She looks at her boy and her eyes are brightening, 
Shame if ever you make them weep ; 
Come along! 

Bravo ! see how the brown cheek flushes ; 

Ready to work as hard as you can? 
I have always faith in a boy that blushes, 
None will blush for him when he 's a man ; 
Come along! 

Dinah Mulock Craih. 



Wtlitbt ®t)at by tty 600D 

Believe that by the good in thine own mind, 

Thy child to good will early be inclined. 

By every noble thought with which thy heart is fired, 

Thy child's young soul will surely be inspired; 

And canst thou any better gift bestow 

Than union with The Eternal One to know? 

159 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

to a Zimib Ci}tl& 

Don't be afraid of the dark, 

My daughter, dear as my soul. 
You see but a part of the gloomy world, 

But I— I have seen the whole. 
And I know each step of the fearsome way, 
Till the shadows brighten to open day. 

Don't be afraid of pain, 

My little tender child : 
When its smart is worst, there comes strength to 
bear, 

And it seems as if angels smiled — 
As I smile, dear, when I hurt you now 
In binding up this wound on your brow. 

Don't be afraid of grief, 

'Twill come, as night follows day, 
But the bleakest sky has tiny rifts 

When the stars shine through as to say, 
* ' Wait, wait a little till night is o 'er 
And beautiful day comes back once more." 

child, be afraid of sin, 

But have no other fear ; 
For God's in the dark as well as the light, 

And while we can feel Him near, 
His hand that He gives, His love that He gave, 
Lead safely, even to the dark of the grave. 

Dinah Mulock Craik. 

160 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

spotter* Wntt\) 

Mother, watch the little feet 
Climbing o'er the garden wall, 

Bounding thro ' the busy street, 
Ranging cellar, shed and hall. 

Never count the moments lost, 
Never mind the time it cost : 

Little feet will go astray — 

Guide them, mother, while you may. 

Mother, watch the little hand 
Picking berries by the way, 

Making houses in the sand, 
Tossing up the fragrant hay. 

Never dare the question ask, 
' ' Why to me this weary task ? ' ' 

These same little hands may prove 
Messengers of light and love. 

Mother, watch the little heart. 
Beating soft and warm for you ; 

Wholesome lessons now impart ; 

Keep, oh, keep that young heart true. 

Extricating every weed, 

Sowing good and precious seed; 

Harvest rich you then may see, 
Ripening for eternity. 



161 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

« ipatience Witi) tty ilotoe " 

They are such tiny feet : 
They have gone such a little way to meet 
The years that are required to break 
Their steps to evenness, and make 
Them go more sure and slow. 

They are such little hands, 

Be kind. Things are so new and life but stands 

A step beyond the doorway. All around 

New day has found 

Such tempting things to shine upon, and so 

The hands are tempted hard, you know. 

They are such young, new lives, 

Surely their newness shrives 

Them well of many sins. They see so much 

That being mortal they would touch, 

That if they reach, 

We must not chide, but teach. 

They are such fond, clear eyes 

That widen to surprise 

At every turn; they are so often held 

To sun or showers, — showers soon dispelled 

By looking in our face, — 

Love asks, for such, much grace. 

They are such fair, frail gifts; 

Uncertain as the rifts 



162 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Of light that lie along the sky— 
They may not be here by and by — 
Give them not love, but more — above, 
And harder — patience with the love. 

George Klingle. 



3innomu Ctjtto ana £>noto=W\\itt IFlotoer 

Innocent child and snow-white flower, 
Well are ye paired in your opening hour. 
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, 
Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet. 

White as those leaves just blown apart 
Are the folds of thy own heart ; 
Guilty passion and cankering care 
Never have left their traces there. 

Artless one, tho ' thou gazest now 

'er the white blossom with earnest brow, 

Soon will it tire thy childish eye ; 

Fair as it is, thou wilt throw it by. 

Throw it aside in thy weary hour, 
Throw to the ground the pure white flower ; 
Yet, as thy tender years depart, 
Keep that white and innocent heart. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



163 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

tyatoe jfaitfc in tty 315os 

Have faith in the boy, not believing 

That he is the worst of his kind, 
In league with the army of Satan, 

And only to evil inclined. 
But daily to guard and control him 

Your wisdom and patience employ, 
And daily, despite disappointment 

And sorrow, have faith in the boy. 

Have faith to believe that some moment 

In life 's strangely checkered career, 
Convicted, subdued and repentant, 

The prodigal son will appear, 
The gold in his nature rejecting 

The dark and debasing alloy, 
Illuming your spirit with gladness 

Because you have faith in the boy. 

Though now he is wayward and stubborn, 

And keeps himself sadly aloof 
From those who are anxious and fearful, 

And ready with words of reproof, 
Have faith that the prayers of a mother 

His wandering feet will arrest, 
And turn him away from his follies 

To weep out his tears on her breast. 



164 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

The brook that goes clashing and dancing 

We may not divert from its course, 
Until the wild turbulent spirit 

Has somewhat expended its force ; 
The brook is the life of the river, 

And if we the future might scan, 
We 'd find that a boisterous boyhood 

Gave vigor and life to the man. 

Ah ! many a boy has been driven 

Away from home by the thought 
That no one believed in his goodness, 

Or dreamed of the battle he fought ; 
So if you would help him to conquer 

The foes that are prone to annoy, 
Encourage him often with kindness, 

And show you have faith in the boy. 

Have faith in his good resolutions, 

Believe that at last he'll prevail, 
Though now he 's forgetful and heedless, 

Though day after day he may fail. 
Your doubts and suspicious misgivings 

His hope and his courage destroy ; 
So if you'd secure a brave manhood, 

'Tis well to have faith in the boy. 



165 



S0XG8 OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Baby's? Cfpfetniittg 

Sweetheart, thou hast no name, 
Only such tender words as love can frame ; 
Christened anew with kisses every hour, — 
Our pearl, our dove, our flower. 

So we have come today, 
A name in blessing on thy brow to lay, 
Wreathing the font with buds of palest dyes, 
And violets like thine eyes. 

child, we cannot see 

All that the coming years may bring to thee ; 
If on thy path the dews drop cool and sweet, 
Or thorns shall bruise thy feet. 

And if our love could choose 
Life's sweetest gifts, and all its ills refuse, 
Perchance the treasures we should deem the best 
"Would fill thee with unrest. 

So we who love thee, dear, 
Lift empty hands to One who waiteth near, 
Saying, ' ' In life or death, Thy will be done ; 
Bless thou the little one. ' ' 

Emily Huntington Miller. 

Z\)t Cljitoren'tf 0ppeal 

Give us light amid our darkness ; 
Let us know the good from ill; 

166 



SONGS OF MOTBER AND CHILD 

Hate us not for all our blindness; 
Love us, lead us, show us kindness, — 
You can make us what you will. 

We are willing, we are ready, 
We would learn if you would teach ; 

We have hearts that yearn toward duty ; 

We have minds alive to beauty, 
Souls that any height can reach. 

We shall be what you will make us : — 
Make us wise and make us good; 

Make us strong for time of trial; 

Teach us temperance, self-denial, 
Patience, kindness, fortitude. 

Look into our childish faces ; 

See you not our willing hearts? 
Only love us — only lead us: 
Only let us know you need us, 

And we all will do our parts. 

Send us to our loving mothers, 
Angel-stamped in heart and brow. 

We may be our fathers ' teachers ; 

We may be the mightiest preachers, 
In the day that dawneth now. 

Mary Howitt. 



167 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

6ianiDpapa 

Grandpapa's hair is very white, 
And grandpapa walks but slow; 

He likes to sit in his easy chair, 
While the children come and go. 

"Hush— play quietly/ ' says mamma, 

"Let nobody trouble dear grandpapa.'' 

Grandpapa's hand is thin and weak, 
It has worked hard all his days ; 

A strong right hand and an honest hand 
That has won all good men's praise ; 

' ' Kiss it tenderly, ' ' says mamma, 

"Let everyone honor grandpapa." 

Grandpapa's eyes are growing dim; 

They have looked on sorrow and death, 
But the love light never went out of them, 

Nor the courage and the faith. 
"You children all of you," says mamma, 
"Have need to look up to grandpapa." 

Grandpapa's years are wearing few, 
But he leaves a blessing behind — 

A good life lived and a good fight fought, 
True heart and equal mind. 

"Remember, my children," says mamma, 

"You bear the name of your grandpapa." 

Dinah Mulock Craih. 



168 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Three years she grew in sun and shower, 
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown; 
This Child I to myself will take; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 
A Lady of my own. 

" Myself will to my darling be 

Both law and impulse : and with me 

The Girl, in rock and plain, 

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 

Shall feel an overseeing power 

To kindle or restrain. 

"She shall be sportive as the fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
Or up the mountain springs; 
And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Or mute, insensate things. 

1 { The floating clouds their state shall lend 

To her; for her the willow bend; 

Nor shall she fail to see 

Even in the motions of the Storm 

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form 

By silent sympathy. 



169 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

1 1 The stars of midnight shall be dear 

To her ; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 

Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 

And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face. 

"And vital feelings of delight 
Shall rear her form to stately height, 
Her virgin bosom swell; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
While she and I together live 
Here in this happy dell." 

Thus Nature spake — the work was done — 

How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 

She died, and left to me 

This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 

The memory of what has been, 

And never more will be. 

William Wordsworth. 



®n a CfttlD 



This child, so lovely and so cherub like 

(No fairer spirit in the heaven of heavens), — 

Say, must he know remorse ? Must passion come, 

Passion in all or any of its shapes, 

To cloud and sully what is now so pure ? 



170 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Yes, come it must, for who, alas ! has lived 
Nor in the watches of the night recalled 
Words he has wished unsaid, and deeds undone ? 
Yes, come it must. But if, as we may hope, 
He learns ere long to discipline his mind, 
And onward goes, humbly and cheerfully, 
Assisting them that faint, weak though he be, 
And in his trying hours trusting in God, — 
Fair as he is, he shall be fairer still; 
For what was innocence will then be virtue. 

Samuel Rogers. 

SDatoiD an& ^oltat!) 

My little lad whom doubt assailed, 

In our poor human fashion, 
Because nine times he tried and failed 

To check his furious passion, 

Would fain give up the unequal strife, 

Leave courage to his betters ; 
And wear through all his hampered life 

Hot temper's iron fetters. 

Nay ! never fear the stubborn thing ! 

Be brave and self-reliant ; 
The smallest stone in Patience's sling, 

Will slay the greatest giant. 

Mary Elizabeth Blake. 



171 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Mult Cfjil&ren 

Blessings, blessings on the beds 
Whose white pillows softly bear 

Rows of little shining heads 
That have never known a care. 

Pity for the heart that bleeds 

In the homestead desolate, 
Where no little troubling needs 

Make the weary working wait. 

Safely, safely to the fold 
Bring them, whereso 'er they be, 

Thou who saidst of them of old, 
"Suffer them to come to me." 

Alice Cary. 



spotter attu Cljtto 

Love thy mother, little one, 
Kiss and clasp her neck again. 

Hereafter she may have a son 

Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
Love thy mother, little one. 

Gaze upon her living eyes, 
And mirror back her love for thee. 

Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs, 
To meet them when they cannot see. 
Gaze upon her living eyes. 

172 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Press her lips the while they glow, 
With love that they have often told ; 

Hereafter thou mayst press in woe, 
And kiss them till thine own are cold. 
Press her lips the while they glow. 

Oh, revere her raven hair, — 

Altho' it be not silver gray. 
Too early Death, led on by care, 

May snatch, save one dear lock, away. 
Oh, revere her raven hair. 

Pray for her at eve and morn, 

That heaven may long the stroke defer ; 
For thou mayst live the hour forlorn, 
When thou wilt ask to die with her. 
Pray for her at eve and morn. 

Thomas Hood. 



Rosebud that came to your mother in May, 
Growing more beautiful every day, 
What will you be when your petals unclose, 
What will you be when you grow to a rose ? 

Lovely and changeable now she appears, 
Sunshine and raindrops her smiles and her tears ; 
What is her fate in the future, who knows, — 
Fate of the rosebud when grown to a rose ? 

173 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Shall it be worn on an honest man's breast, 
Safe from all care that would vex or molest, 
Sweetly secure in a happy repose, 
Loving and loved as a beautiful rose? 

Or shall it be for a day or so worn, 

Then from its resting place scornfully torn, 
Subject to miseries, sorrow and throes, 
Withered and faded the leaves of the rose ? 

Seek not to fathom the future in vain, 
Be it in pleasure or be it in pain, 
He who is wisest and everything knows, 
He will take care of the life of the rose. 

Thomas Dunn English. 

<0ur Cljil&rm 

How much they suffer from our faults, — 
How much from our mistakes, — 
How often, too, " misguided zeal" 
An infant's misery makes. 

We over-rule, and over-teach, — 
We curb and we confine, — 
And put the heart to school too soon, 
To learn our narrow line. 

No, only taught by love to love, 
Seems childhood's natural task, — 
Affection, gentleness, and love 
Are all its brief years ask. 

C. H. Landon. 
174 



IX 



C^e Hong ago 



tfto Be a CfjilD again 

To be a child again ! 

With locks unbound, and blue eyes unafraid, 

Seeking fresh treasures in the forest glade ; 

Up with the sun, to follow at the heels 

Of the dear father toiling in the fields ; 

To climb in mother's lap at close of day, 

Be kissed and rocked to sleep, tired out with play. 

To be a child again ! 

"What would we give, whose hearts are drenched with 

tears, 
With our strong hands to press aside the years, 
And once again with sinless lips to say 
Beside her knee the words we used to pray. 
Dear Father, where thy many mansions be, 
I beg that thou wilt grant this boon to me, 
To be a child again. 

Nora A. Piper. 



177 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 



Wminm 



little feet ! that such long years 
Must wander on through hopes and fears, 
Must ache and bleed beneath your load; 
I, nearer to the wayside inn, 
Where toil shall cease and rest begin, 
Am weary, thinking of your load. 

little hands ! that weak or strong, 
Have still to serve or rule so long ; 
Have still so long to give or ask, 
I, who so much with book and pen 
Have toiled among my fellow men, 
Am weary, thinking of your task. 

little hearts ! that throb and beat 
With such impatient feverish heat, 
Such limitless and strong desires ; 
Mine, that so long has glowed and burned, 
With passions into ashes turned, 
Now cowers and conceals its fires. 

little souls! as pure and white 
And crystalline as rays of light, 
Direct from heaven, their source divine ; 
Refracted through the mist of years, 
How red my setting sun appears 
How lurid looks this soul of mine. 

Henry W. Longfellow. 



178 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Children, do you ever 
In walks by land or sea, 

Meet a little maiden 
Long time lost to me? 

She is gay and gladsome, 

Has a laughing face, 
And a heart as sunny; 

And her name is Grace. 

Nought she knows of sorrow, 
Nought of doubt or blight, 

Heaven is just above her. 
All her thoughts are white. 

Long time since I lost her, 
That other Me of mine ; 

She crossed into Time's shadow, 
Out of Youth's sunshine. 

Now the darkness keeps her ; 

And call her as I will, 
The years that lie between us 

Hide her from me still. 



I am dull and pain- worn, 

And lonely as can be. 
Oh, children, if you meet her, 

Send back my other Me ! 

Grace Denio Litchfield. 

179 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Will? 115o£, Wtytt SLxt ^ou <£oing 

Willy boy, Willy boy, where are you going 1 

I will go with you, my dear, if I may. 
Hold out your hand where the dimples are growing, 

Wait for me, sweetheart, and show me the way. 
Out through the meadows of blossoming clover, 

Golden with buttercups, filled with the sun, 
Spread with the lace of green apple-boughs over, 

Delicate network the shadows have spun 

Over the fence with its turning and winding 

Zigzag, each corner the place for a nest. 
Covered with mosses and hidden from finding 

By motherly wings and a wee speckled breast; 
Down to the creek where the pebbles are standing, 

On white little feet in the sunlight a-gleam, 
And where a wet butterfly comes to a landing, 

Furling its wings, settles down for a dream. 

Spice of the mint and sweet of the clover, 

Pipe of the robin and hum of the bees, 
Shadow and sunlight flickering over— 

Willy boy, Willy boy, wait if you please ; 
Hold out your hand where the dimples are growing, 

I will go with you, my dear, if I may. 
Over the meadows the breezes are blowing, 

Hints of a summer long vanished away. 

Harriet F. Blodgett. 



180 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

U50]$00D 

Ah, then how sweetly closed those crowded days, 
The minutes parting one by one like rays 

That fade upon a summer's eve! 
But oh, what charm or magic numbers 
Can give me back those gentle slumbers 

Those weary, happy days did leave, 
When by my bed I saw my mother kneel, 

And with her blessing took her nightly kiss ? 

Whatever time destroys, he cannot this ; — 
Even now that nameless kiss I feel. 

Washington Allston. 

Zty 115arefoot JBoj 

Blessings on thee, little man, 
Barefoot boy with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 
With the sunshine on thy face, 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; 
From my heart I give thee joy, — 
I was once a barefoot boy! 

Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-dollared ride ! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 

181 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Thou hast more than he can buy, 
In the reach of ear and eye, — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy: 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

Oh for boyhood's painless play, 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
Knowledge never learned of schools, 
Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
Of the wildflower's time and place, 
Flight of fowl and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood; 
How the tortoise bears his shell, 
How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
And the ground-mole sinks his well ; 
How the robin feeds her young, 
How the oriole's nest is hung; 
Where the whitest lilies blow, 
Where the freshest berries grow, 
Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 
Of the black wasp 's cunning way, 
Mason of his walls of clay, 
And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artisans ! 
For eschewing books and tasks, 
Nature answers all he asks ; 



182 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Hand in hand with her he walks, 
Face to face with her he talks, 
Part and parcel of her joy,— 
Blessings on the barefoot boy! 

Oh for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw, 
Me, their master, waited for ! 
I was rich in flowers and trees, 
Humming-birds and honey-bees; 
For my sport the squirrel played, 
Plied the snouted mole his spade; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight 
Through the day and through the night, 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talked with me from fall to fall ; 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 
Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides! 
Still as my horizon grew, 
Larger grew my riches too ; 
All the world I saw or knew 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy. 



183 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Oh for festal dainties spread 
Like my bowl of milk and bread ; 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 
O'er me, like a regal tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frog's orchestra; 
And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 
I was monarch: pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy. 

Cheerily then, my little man, 
Live and laugh as boyhood can ! 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison-cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work be shod, 
Made to tread the mills of toil, 
Up and down in ceaseless moil ; 



184 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground; 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



ftock $&e to g>leep 

Backward, turn backward, Time, in your flight, 
Make me a child again just for tonight. 
Mother, come back from the echoless shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore; 
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair ; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep — 
Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to sleep ! 

Backward, flow backward, tide of the years! 

I am so weary of toil and of tears — 

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain — 

Take them and give me my childhood again ! 

I have grown weary of dust and decay, 

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away, 

Weary of sowing for others to reap— 

Eock me to sleep, mother— rock me to sleep! 

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, 
Mother, mother, my heart calls for you! 

185 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
Blossomed and faded, our faces between ; 
Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain, 
Long I tonight for your presence again ; 
Come from the silence so long and so deep — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep ! 

Over my heart in the days that are flown, 
No love like mother-love ever has shone; 
No other worship abides and endures, 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient, like yours ; 
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain, 
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep ! 

Come, let your brown hair just lighted with gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old, 
Let it drop over my forehead tonight, 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light ; 
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more, 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore ; 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep— 
Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to sleep ! 

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
Since I last listened your lullaby song; 
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood's years have been only a dream. 



186 



SONGS OF MOTHER AND CHILD 

Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, 
With your light lashes just sweeping my face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep — 
Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to sleep ! 

Elizabeth Akers 



187 



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